C3f 


Bennett 


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MASTER   SKYLARK 


"MASTEB  8KVLARK,  THOU  SHALT  HAVE  THY  WISH.1  SATI)  QUEEN 
ELIZABETH."    (Seep.  261) 


MASTER   SKYLARK 

A  Story  of 
Shakspere's  Time 


BY 


JOHN  BENNETT 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  REGINALD  B.  BIRCH 


NEW  YORK 

Century  Co. 


Copyright,  1896,  1897,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Copyright,  1897,  by 
JOHN  BENNETT 


PB1NTE0    IN    U.  S.  A. 


SRLi 
URlj 


ALL  THAT  NICHOLAS  ATTWOOD'S  MOTHER 

WAS  TO  HIM,  AND  MORE,  MY  OWN  MOTHER  HAS  BEEN  TO  ME 

AND  TO  HER  HERE  I  INSCRIBE  THIS  BOOK 

WITH  A  NEVER-FAILING  LOVE 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOB 

I  THE  LOKD  ADMIRAL'S  PLAYERS     ....  1 

II  NICHOLAS  ATTWOOD'S  HOME           ....  9 

III  THE  LAST  STRAW 17 

IV  OFF  FOR  COVENTRY      ......  25 

V  IN  THE  WARWICK  ROAD        .....  28 

VI    THE  MASTER-PLATER 33 

VII  "WELL  SUNG,  MASTER  SKYLARK!"        ...  39 

VIII  THE  ADMIRAL'S  COMPANY     .....  46 

IX    THE  MAY-DAY  PLAY 52 

X    AFTER  THE  PLAY 60 

XI    DISOWNED 64 

XII    A  STRANGE  AIDE 69 

XIII  A  DASH  FOR  FREEDOM          .....  79 

XIV  AT  BAY 87 

XV    LONDON  TOWN 91 

XVI  MA'M'SELLE  CICELY  CAREW           ....  102 

XVII     CAREW'S  OFFER 113 

XVIII  MASTER  HEYWOOD  PROTESTS         ....  120 

XIX    THE  ROSE  PLAY-HOUSE 127 

XX  DISAPPOINTMENT  .......  134 

XXI  "THE  CHILDREN  OF  PAUL'S"         .         .         .         .140 

XXII    THE  SKYLARK'S  SONG 147 

vii 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXIII 

PAGE 

155 

XXIV 

THE  MAKING  OF  A  PLAYER           ... 

.     161 

XXV 

THE  WANING  OF  THE  YEAR           .         . 

.     170 

XXVI 

TO    SlNG    BEFORE    THE    QUEEN             .              .              . 

.     179 

XXVII 

THE  QUEEN'S  PLAISANCE       .... 

.     187 

XXVIII 

CHRISTMAS  WITH  QUEEN  BESS       .         .         . 

.     194 

XXIX 
XXX 

BACK  TO  GASTON  CAREW     .... 

.     208 
214 

XXXI 

IN  THE  TWINKLING  OF  AN  EYE     .         .         . 

.     221 

XXXII 

THE  LAST  OF  GASTON  CAREW 

.     231 

XXXIII 

CICELY  DISAPPEARS      

.     241 

XXXIV 

THE  BANDY-LEGGED  MAN     .... 

.     245 

XXXV 

A  SUDDEN  RESOLVE      ..... 

.     259 

XXXVI 

WAYFARING  HOME         ..... 

.     266 

XXXVII 

TURNED  ADRIFT  ...... 

.     278 

XXXVIII 

A  STRANGE  DAY            ..... 

.     282 

XXXIX 

ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL      .         .         . 

.     288 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


"MABTEH  SKYLARK,  THOU  SHALT  HAVE  THT  WISH,"  SAID  QUEEN 

ELIZABETH Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

THE  LORD  ADMIRAL'S  PLATERS.  THE  TRUMPETERS  AND  THE 
DRUMMERS  LED,  THEIR  HORSES  PRANCING,  WHITE  PLUMES 
WAVING  IN  THE  BREEZE 6 

"WHUH  BE-EST  GOING,  NICK?"  ASKED  ROGER  DAWSON       .     .       26 

"WHAT!    How  Now?"  CRIED  THE  STRANGER,  SHARPLY.    "Dosi 

LIKE  OR  LIKE  ME  NOT?" 34 

"  NICK  THOUGHT  OF  His  MOTHER'S  SINGING  ON  A  SUMMER'S  EVEN- 
ING— DREW  A  DEEP  BREATH  AND  BEGAN  TO  SING   ...        56 

"NOBODY  BREAKS  NOBODY'S  HEARTS  IN  OLD  JO-OHN  SMITHSES 
SHO-OP,"  DRAWLED  THE  SMITH,  IN  HIS  DEEP  VOICE;  "NoR 
STEALS  NOBODY,  NOTHER" 88 

"DiccoN  HAD  OFTEN  MADE  NICK  WHISTLES  FROM  THE  WILLOWS 

ALONG  THE  AVON  WHEN  NICK  WAS  A  TODDLER"      .     .     .     118 

NICK  PUT  ONE  LEG  OVER  THE  SILL  AND  LOOKED  BACK  .  .  132 
"On,  NICK,  THOU  ART  MOST  BEAUTIFUL  TO  SEE!"  CRIED  CICELY  142 
"THAT  VOICE,  THAT  VOICE!"  NAT  GILES  PANTED  TO  HIMSELF  152 

NICK  GAVE  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE  FROM  His  CLOAK  TO  A  BOY  WHO 

STOOD  CRYING  WITH  COLD  AND  HUNGER  IN  THE  STREET    .      174 

So  NICK  RODE  HOME  UPON  THE  BACK  OF  THE  EARL  OF  ARUNDEL'S 

MAN-AT-ARMS 210 

"WHY,  SIR,  I'LL  SING  FOR  THEE  Now,"  SAID  NICK,  CHOKING  238 

"Do  NA  THOU  STRIKE  ME  AGAIN,  THOU  ROGUE!"  SAID  NICK  250 

"On,  NICK,  WHAT  Is  IT?"  SHE  CRIED 272 

MASTER  SHAKSPERE  MET  THEM  WITH  OUTSTRETCHED  HANDS  282 


MASTER  SKYLARK 


MASTER  SKYLARK 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  LORD  ADMIRAL'S  PLAYERS 

rTIHERE  was  an  unwonted  buzzing  in  the  east  end  of 
I  Stratford  on  that  next  to  the  last  day  of  April,  1596. 
It  was  as  if  some  one  had  thrust  a  stick  into  a  hive  of 
bees  and  they  had  come  whirling  out  to  see. 

The  low  stone  guard- wall  of  old  Clopton  bridge,  built  a 
hundred  years  before  by  rich  Sir  Hugh,  sometime  Mayor 
of  London,  was  lined  with  straddling  boys,  like  strawber- 
ries upon  a  spear  of  grass,  and  along  the  low  causeway 
from  the  west  across  the  lowland  to  the  town,  brown-faced, 
barefoot  youngsters  sat  beside  the  roadway  with  their 
chubby  legs  a-dangle  down  the  mossy  stones,  staring 
away  into  the  south  across  the  grassy  levels  of  the  valley 
of  the  Stour. 

Punts  were  poling  slowly  up  the  Avon  to  the  bridge  •. 
and  at  the  outlets  of  the  town,  where  the  streets  came  down 
to  the  waterside  among  the  weeds,  little  knots  of  men  and 
serving-maids  stood  looking  into  the  south  and  listening. 


2  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Some  had  waited  for  an  hour,  some  for  two ;  yet  still 
there  was  no  sound  but  the  piping  of  the  birds  in  white- 
thorn hedges,  the  hollow  lowing  of  kine  knee-deep  in 
grassy  meadows,  and  the  long  rush  of  the  river  through 
the  sedge  beside  the  pebbly  shore ;  and  naught  to  see  but 
quiet  valleys,  primrose  lanes,  and  Warwick  orchards  white 
with  bloom,  stretching  away  to  the  misty  hills. 

But  still  they  stood  and  looked  and  listened. 

The  wind  came  stealing  up  out  of  the  south,  soft  and 
warm  and  sweet  and  still,  moving  the  ripples  upon  the 
river  with  gray  gusts ;  and,  scudding  free  before  the  wind, 
a  dog  came  trotting  up  the  road  with  wet  pink  tongue  and 
sidelong  gait.  At  the  throat  of  Clopton  bridge  he  stopped 
and  scanned  the  way  with  dubious  eye,  then  clapped  his 
tail  between  his  legs  and  bolted  for  the  town.  The  laugh- 
ing shout  that  followed  him  into  the  Warwick  road  seemed 
not  to  die  away,  but  to  linger  in  the  air  like  the  drowsy 
hum  of  bees— a  hum  that  came  and  went  at  intervals 
upon  the  shifting  wind,  and  grew  by  littles,  taking  body 
till  it  came  unbroken  as  a  long,  low,  distance-muffled  mur- 
mur from  the  south,  so  faint  as  scarcely  to  be  heard. 

Nick  Attwood  pricked  his  keen  young  ears.  "  They  're 
coming,  Robin— hark  'e  to  the  trampling !  " 

Robin  Getley  held  his  breath  and  turned  his  ear  toward 
the  south.  The  far-off  murmur  was  a  mutter  now,  denned 
and  positive,  and,  as  the  two  friends  listened,  grew  into  a 
drumming  roll,  and  all  at  once  above  it  came  a  shrill,  high 
sound  like  the  buzzing  of  a  gnat  close  by  the  ear. 

Little  Tom  Davenant  dropped  from  the  finger-post,  and 


THE  LORD  ADMIRAL'S  PLAYERS          3 

came  running  up  from  the  fork  of  the  Banbury  road,  his 
feet  making  little  white  puffs  in  the  dust  as  he  flew. 
"  They  are  coming !  they  are  coming ! "  he  shrieked  as  he 
ran. 

Then  up  to  his  feet  sprang  Robin  Getley,  upon  the 
saddle-backed  coping-stones,  his  hand  upon  Nick  Att- 
wood's  head  to  steady  himself,  and  looked  away  where 
the  rippling  Stour  ran  like  a  thread  of  silver  beside  the 
dust-buff  London  road,  and  the  little  church  of  Atherstone 
stood  blue  against  the  rolling  Cotswold  Hills. 

"  They  are  coming !  they  are  coming !  "  shrilled  little 
Tom,  and  scrambled  up  the  coping  like  a  squirrel  up 
a  rail. 

A  stir  ran  out  along  the  guard-wall,  some  crying  out, 
some  starting  up.  "  Sit  down !  sit  down !  "  cried  others, 
peering  askance  at  the  water  gurgling  green  down  below. 
"  Sit  down,  or  we  shall  all  be  off !  " 

Robin  held  his  hand  above  his  eyes.  A  cloud  of  dust 
was  rising  from  the  London  road  and  drifting  off  across 
the  fields  like  smoke  when  the  old  ricks  burn  in  damp 
weather— a  long,  broad-sheeted  mist;  and  in  it  were  bits 
of  moving  gold,  shreds  of  bright  colors  vaguely  seen,  and 
silvery  gleams  like  the  glitter  of  polished  metal  in  the 
sun.  And  as  he  looked  the  shifty  wind  came  down  out  of 
the  west  again  and  whirled  the  cloud  of  dust  away,  and 
there  he  saw  a  long  line  of  men  upon  horses  coming  at  an 
easy  canter  up  the  highway.  Just  as  he  had  made  this  out 
the  line  came  rattling  to  a  stop,  the  distant  drumming  of 
hoofs  was  still,  and  as  the  long  file  knotted  itself  into  a 


4  MASTER   SKYLARK 

rosette  of  ruddy  color  amid  the  April  green,  a  clear,  shrill 
trumpet  blew  and  blew  again. 

"  They  are  coming ! "  shouted  Robin,  "  they  are  com- 
ing !  "  and,  turning,  waved  his  cap. 

A  shout  went  up  along  the  bridge.  Those  down  below 
came  clambering  up,  the  punts  came  poling  with  a  rush  of 
foam,  and  a  ripple  ran  along  the  edge  of  Stratford  town 
like  the  wind  through  a  field  of  wheat.  Windows  creaked 
and  doors  swung  wide,  and  the  workmen  stopped  in  the 
garden-plots  to  lean  upon  their  mattocks  and  to  look. 

"  They  are  coming ! "  bellowed  Raf e  Hickathrift,  the 
butcher's  boy,  standing  far  out  in  the  street,  with  his  red 
hands  to  his  mouth  for  a  trumpet,  "  they  are  coming ! " 
and  at  that  the  doors  of  Bridge  street  grew  alive  with 
eager  eyes. 

At  early  dawn  the  Oxford  carrier  had  brought  the  news 
that  the  players  of  the  Lord  High  Admiral  were  coming 
up  to  Stratford  out  of  London  from  the  south,  to  play  on 
May-day  there ;  and  this  was  what  had  set  the  town  to 
buzzing  like  a  swarm.  For  there  were  in  England  then 
but  three  great  companies,  the  High  Chamberlain's,  the 
Earl  of  Pembroke's  men,  and  the  stage-players  of  my 
Lord  Charles  Howard,  High  Admiral  of  the  Realm ;  and 
the  day  on  which  they  came  into  a  Midland  market-town 
to  play  was  one  to  mark  with  red  and  gold  upon  the 
calendar  of  the  uneventful  year. 

Away  by  the  old  mill-bridge  there  were  fishermen 
angling  for  dace  and  perch;  but  when  the  shout  came 
down  from  the  London  road  they  dropped  their  poles  and 


THE  LORD  ADMIRAL'S  PLAYEKS         5 

ran,  through  the  willows  and  over  the  gravel,  splashing 
and  thrashing  among  the  rushes  and  sandy  shallows,  not 
to  be  last  when  the  players  came.  And  old  John  Carter, 
coming  down  the  Warwick  road  with  a  load  of  hay,  laid  on 
the  lash  until  piebald  Dobbin  snorted  in  dismay  and  broke 
into  a  lumbering  run  to  reach  the  old  stone  bridge  in  time. 

The  distant  horsemen  now  were  coming  on  again,  riding 
in  double  file.  They  had  flung  their  banners  to  the  breeze, 
and  on  the  changing  wind,  with  the  thumping  of  horses' 
hoofs,  came  by  snatches  the  sound  of  a  kettledrummer 
drawing  his  drumhead  tight,  and  beating  as  he  drew,  and 
the  muffled  blasts  of  a  trumpeter  proving  his  lips. 

Fynes  Morrison  and  Walter  Stirley,  who  had  gone  to 
Cowslip  lane  to  meet  the  march,  were  running  on  ahead, 
and  shouting  as  they  ran :  "  There  's  forty  men,  and 
sumpter-mules !  and,  oh,  the  bravest  banners  and  attire— 
and  the  trumpets  are  a  cloth-yard  long !  Make  room  for 
us,  make  room  for  us,  and  let  us  up ! n 

A  bowshot  off,  the  trumpets  blew  a  blast  so  high,  so 
clear,  so  keen,  that  it  seemed  a  flame  of  fire  in  the  air,  and 
as  the  brassy  fanfare  died  away  across  the  roofs  of  the 
quiet  town,  the  kettledrums  clanged,  the  cymbals  clashed, 
and  all  the  company  began  to  sing  the  famous  old  song 
of  the  hunt : 

"The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 
Sing  merrily  we,  the  hunt  is  up ! 
The  wild  birds  sing, 
The  dun  deer  fling, 
The  forest  aisles  with  music  ring ! 
Tantara,  tautara,  tantara ! 


6  MASTER   SKYLARK 

"Then  ride  along,  ride  along, 
Stout  and  strong ! 

Farewell  to  grief  and  care ; 
With  a  rollicking  cheer 
For  the  high  dun  deer 

And  a  life  in  the  open  air ! 
Tantara,  the  hunt  is  up,  lads ; 

Tantara,  the  bugles  bray ! 
Tantara,  tantara,  tantara, 
Hio,  hark  away ! " 

The  first  of  the  riders  had  reached  old  Clopton  bridge, 
and  the  banners  strained  upon  their  staves  in  the  freshen- 
ing river-wind.  The  trumpeters  and  the  drummers  led, 
their  horses  prancing,  white  plumes  waving  in  the  breeze, 
and  the  April  sunlight  dancing  on  the  brazen  horns  and 
the  silver  bellies  of  the  kettledrums. 

Then  came  the  banners  of  the  company,  curling  down 
with  a  silky  swish,  and  unfurling  again  with  a  snap,  like 
a  broad-lashed  whip.  The  greatest  one  was  rosy  red,  and 
on  it  was  a  gallant  ship  upon  a  flowing  sea,  bearing  upon 
its  mainsail  the  arms  of  my  Lord  Charles  Howard,  High 
Admiral  of  England.  Upon  its  mate  was  a  giant-bearded 
man  with  a  fish's  tail,  holding  a  trident  in  his  hand  and 
blowing  upon  a  shell,  the  Triton  of  the  seas  which  Eng- 
land ruled ;  this  flag  was  bright  sea-blue.  The  third  was 
white,  and  on  it  was  a  red  wild  rose  with  a  golden  heart, 
the  common  standard  of  the  company. 

After  the  flags  came  twoscore  men,  the  players  of  the 
Admiral,  the  tiring-men,  grooms,  horse-boys,  and  serving- 
knaves,  well  mounted  on  good  horses,  and  all  of  them  clad 


THE  LORD  ADMIRAL'S  PLAYER&    "THE  TRUMPETERS  AND  THE  DRTTMMERS  LED, 
THEIR  HORSES  PRANCING,  WHITE  PLUMES  WAVING  IN  THE  BREEZE," 


THE  LOED  ADMIRAL'S  PLAYERS         7 

in  scarlet  tabards  blazoned  with  the  coat-armor  of  their 
master.  Upon  their  caps  they  wore  the  famous  badge  of 
the  Howards,  a  rampant  silver  demi-lion;  and  beneath 
their  tabards  at  the  side  could  be  seen  their  jerkins  of 
many-colored  silk,  their  silver-buckled  belts,  and  long,  thin 
Spanish  rapiers,  slapping  their  horses  on  the  flanks  at 
every  stride.  Their  legs  were  cased  in  high-topped  riding- 
boots  of  tawny  cordovan,  with  gilt  spurs,  and  the  housings 
of  their  saddles  were  of  blue  with  the  gilt  anchors  of  the 
admiralty  upon  them.  On  their  bridles  were  jingling  bits 
of  steel,  which  made  a  constant  tinkling,  like  a  thousand 
little  bells  very  far  away. 

Some  had  faces  smooth  as  boys  and  were  quite  young ; 
and  others  wore  sharp-pointed  beards  with  stiff- waxed  mus- 
taches, and  were  older  men,  with  a  tinge  of  iron  in  their  hair 
and  lines  of  iron  in  their  faces,  hardened  by  the  lif e  they 
led ;  and  some,  again,  were  smooth-shaven,  so  often  and  so 
closely  that  their  faces  were  blue  with  the  beard  beneath 
the  skin.  But,  oh,  to  Nicholas  Attwood  and  the  rest  of 
Stratford  boys,  they  were  a  dashing,  rakish,  admirable  lot, 
with  the  air  of  something  even  greater  than  lords,  and  a 
keen  knowingness  in  their  sparkling,  worldly  eyes  that 
made  a  common  wise  man  seem  almost  a  fool  beside  them ! 

And  so  they  came  riding  up  out  of  the  south : 

"  Then  ride  along,  ride  along, 
Stout  and  strong ! 

Farewell  to  grief  and  care ; 
With  a  rollicking  cheer 
For  the  high  dun  deer 

And  a  life  in  the  open  air ! n 


8  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Hurrah !  hurrah !     God  save  the  Queen ! " 

A  dropping  shout  went  up  the  street  like  an  arrow-flight 
scattering  over  the  throng ;  and  the  players,  waving  their 
scarlet  caps  until  the  long  line  tossed  like  a  poppy-garden 
in  a  summer  rain,  gave  a  cheer  that  fairly  set  the  crockery 
to  dancing  upon  the  shelves  of  the  stalls  in  Middle  Row. 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  Nicholas  Attwood,  his  blue  eyes 
shining  with  delight.  "  Hurrah,  hurrah,  for  the  Admiral's 
men  !  "  And  high  in  the  air  he  threw  his  cap,  as  a  wild 
cheer  broke  from  the  eddying  crowd,  and  the  arches  of 
the  long  gray  bridge  rang  hollow  with  the  tread  of  hoofs. 
Whiff,  came  the  wind;  down  dropped  the  hat  upon  the 
very  saddle-peak  of  one  tall  fellow  riding  along  among  the 
rest.  Catching  it  quickly  as  it  fell,  he  laughed  and  tossed 
it  back;  and  when  Nick  caught  it  whirling  in  the  air,  a 
shilling  jingled  from  it  to  the  ground. 

Then  up  Fore  Bridge  street  they  all  trooped  after  into 
Stratford  town. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Robin,  "  it  is  brave,  brave !  " 

"  Brave  ?  "  cried  Nick.  "  It  makes  my  very  heart  jump. 
And  see,  Robin,  't  is  a  shilling,  a  real  silver  shilling— oh, 
what  fellows  they  all  be!  Hurrah  for  the  Lord  High 
Admiral's  men ! " 


CHAPTER  H 

NICHOLAS  ATTWOOiyS  HOME 

NICK  Attwood's  father  came  home  that  night  bitterly 
wroth. 

The  burgesses  of  the  town  council  had  ordered  him  to 
build  a  chimney  upon  his  house,  or  pay  ten  shillings  fine ; 
and  shillings  were  none  too  plenty  with  Simon  Attwood, 
the  tanner  of  Old  Town. 

"  Soul  and  body  o'  man ! "  said  he,  "  they  talk  as  if  they 
owned  the  world,  and  a  man  could  na  live  upon  it  save  by 
their  leave.  I  must  build  my  fire  in  a  pipe,  or  pay  ten 
shillings  fine  ?  Things  ha'  come  to  a  pretty  pass— a  pretty 
pass,  indeed ! "  He  kicked  the  rushes  that  were  strewn 
upon  the  floor,  and  ground  the  clay  with  his  heel.  "  This 
litter  will  ha'  to  be  all  took  out.  Atkins  will  be  here  at 
six  i'  the  morning  to  do  the  job,  and  a  lovely  mess  he  will 
make  o'  the  house !  " 

"  Do  na  fret  thee,  Simon,"  said  Mistress  Attwood,  gen- 
tly. "  The  rushes  need  a  changing,  and  I  ha'  pined  this 
long  while  to  lay  the  floor  wi'  new  clay  from  Shottery 
common.  'T  is  the  sweetest  earth !  Nick  shall  take  the 

9 


10  MASTER  SKYLARK 

hangings  down,  and  right  things  up  when  the  chimley  's 
done." 

So  at  cockcrow  next  morning  Nick  slipped  out  of  his 
straw  bed,  into  his  clothes,  and  down  the  winding  stair, 
while  his  parents  were  still  asleep  in  the  loft,  and,  sousing 
his  head  in  the  bucket  at  the  well,  began  his  work  before 
the  old  town  clock  in  the  chapel  tower  had  yet  stmck  four. 

The  rushes  had  not  been  changed  since  Easter,  and  were 
full  of  dust  and  grease  from  the  cooking  and  the  table. 
Even  the  fresher  sprigs  of  mint  among  them  smelled  stale 
and  old.  When  they  were  all  in  the  barrow,  Nick  sighed 
with  relief  and  wiped  his  hands  upon  the  dripping  grass. 

It  had  rained  in  the  night,— a  soft,  warm  rain,— and 
the  air  was  full  of  the  smell  of  the  apple-bloom  and  pear 
from  the  little  orchard  behind  the  house.  The  bees  were 
already  humming  about  the  straw-bound  hives  along  the 
garden  wall,  and  a  misguided  green  woodpecker  clung 
upside  down  to  the  eaves,  and  thumped  at  the  beams  of 
the  house. 

It  was  very  still  there  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn.  He 
could  hear  the  rush  of  the  water  through  the  sedge  in  the 
mill-race,  and  then,  all  at  once,  the  roll  of  the  wheel,  the 
low  rumble  of  the  mill-gear,  and  the  cool  whisper  of  the 
wind  in  the  willows. 

When  he  went  back  into  the  house  again  the  painted 
cloths  upon  the  wall  seemed  dingier  than  ever  compared 
with  the  clean,  bright  world  outside.  The  sky-blue  coat 
of  the  Prodigal  Son  was  brown  with  the  winter's  smoke ; 
the  Red  Sea  towered  above  Pharaoh's  ill-starred  host  like 


NICHOLAS  ATTWOOD'S  HOME  11 

an  inky  mountain;  and  the  homely  maxims  on  the  next 
breadth—  "  Do  no  Wrong,"  "  Beware  of  Sloth,"  "  Overcome 
Pride/'  and  "  Keep  an  Eye  on  the  Pence  "—could  scarcely 
be  read. 

Nick  jumped  up  on  the  three-legged  stool  and  began  to 
take  them  down.  The  nails  were  crooked  and  jammed  in 
the  wall,  and  the  last  came  out  with  an  unexpected  jerk. 
Losing  his  balance,  Nick  caught  at  the  table-board  which 
leaned  against  the  wall ;  but  the  stool  capsized,  and  he  came 
down  on  the  floor  with  such  a  flap  of  tapestry  that  the 
ashes  flew  out  all  over  the  room. 

He  sat  up  dazed,  and  rubbed  his  elbows,  then  looked 
around  and  began  to  laugh. 

He  could  hear  heavy  footsteps  overhead.  A  door 
opened,  and  his  father's  voice  called  sternly  from  the  head 
of  the  stair :  "  What  madcap  folly  art  thou  up  to  now?" 

"  I  be  up  to  no  folly  at  all,"  said  Nick,  "  but  down,  sir. 
I  fell  from  the  stool.  There  's  no  harm  done." 

"  Then  be  about  thy  business,"  said  Attwood,  coming 
slowly  down  the  stairs. 

He  was  a  gaunt  man,  smelling  of  leather  and  untanned 
hides.  His  short  iron-gray  hair  grew  low  down  upon  his 
forehead,  and  his  hooked  nose,  grim  wide  mouth,  and 
heavy  under  jaw  gave  him  a  look  at  once  forbidding  and 
severe.  His  doublet  of  serge  and  his  fustian  hose  were 
stained  with  liquor  from  the  vats,  and  his  eyes  were 
heavy  with  sleep. 

The  smile  faded  from  Nick's  face.  "  Shall  I  throw  the 
rushes  into  the  street,  sir?" 


12  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Nay ;  take  them  to  the  muck-hill.  The  burgesses  ha' 
made  a  great  to-do  about  folk  throwing  trash  into  the 
highways.  Soul  and  body  o'  man  !  "  he  growled,  "  a  man 
must  ask  if  he  may  breathe.  And  good  hides  going 
a-begging,  too ! " 

Nick  hurried  away,  for  he  dreaded  his  father's  sullen 
moods. 

The  swine  were  squealing  in  their  styes,  the  cattle 
bawled  about  the  straw-thatched  barns  in  Chapel  lane, 
and  long  files  of  gabbling  ducks  waddled  hurriedly  down 
to  the  river  through  the  primroses  under  the  hedge.  He 
could  hear  the  milkmaids  calling  in  the  meadows;  and 
when  he  trundled  slowly  home  the  smoke  was  creeping  up 
in  pale-blue  threads  from  the  draught-holes  in  the  wall. 

The  tanner's  house  stood  a  little  back  from  the  thor- 
oughfare, in  that  part  of  Stratford-on-Avon  where  the 
south  end  of  Church  street  turns  from  Bull  lane  toward 
the  river.  It  was  roughly  built  of  timber  and  plaster,  the 
black  beams  showing  through  the  yellow  lime  in  curious 
squares  and  triangles.  The  roof  was  of  red  tiles,  and 
where  the  spreading  elms  leaned  over  it  the  peaked  gable 
was  green  with  moss. 

At  the  side  of  the  house  was  a  garden  of  lettuce ;  be- 
yond the  garden  a  rough  wall  on  which  the  grass  was 
growing.  Sometimes  wild  primroses  grew  on  top  of  this 
wall,  and  once  a  yellow  daffodil.  Beyond  the  wall  were 
other  gardens  owned  by  thrifty  neighbors,  and  open  lands 
in  common  to  them  all,  where  foot-paths  wandered  here 
and  there  in  a  free,  haphazard  way. 


NICHOLAS  ATTWOOD'S  HOME  13 

Behind  the  house  was  a  well  and  a  wood-pile,  and  along 
the  lane  ran  a  whitewashed  paling  fence  with  a  little  gate, 
from  which  the  path  went  up  to  the  door  through  rows  of 
bright,  old-fashioned  flowers. 

Nick's  mother  was  getting  the  breakfast.  She  was  a 
gentle  woman  with  a  sweet,  kind  face,  and  a  little  air  of 
quiet  dignity  that  made  her  doubly  dear  to  Nick  by  con- 
trast with  his  father's  unkempt  ways.  He  used  to  think 
that,  in  her  worsted  gown,  with  its  falling  collar  of  Ant- 
werp linen,  and  a  soft,  silken  coif  upon  her  fading  hair, 
she  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  all  the  world. 

She  put  one  arm  about  his  shoulders,  brushed  back  his 
curly  hair,  and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

"  Thou  art  mine  own  good  little  son,"  said  she,  tenderly, 
"  and  I  will  bake  thee  a  cake  in  the  new  chimley  on  the 
morrow  for  thy  May-day  feast." 

Then  she  helped  him  fetch  the  trestles  from  the  buttery, 
set  the  board,  spread  the  cloth,  and  lay  the  wooden  plat- 
ters, pewter  cups,  and  old  horn  spoons  in  place.  Break- 
fast being  ready,  she  then  called  his  father  from  the 
yard.  Nick  waited  deftly  upon  them  both,  so  that  they 
were  soon  done  with  the  simple  meal  of  rye-bread,  lettuce, 
cheese,  and  milk. 

As  he  carried  away  the  empty  platters  and  brought 
water  and  a  towel  for  them  to  wash  their  hands,  he  said 
quietly,  although  his  eyes  were  bright  and  eager,  "The 
Lord  High  Admiral's  company  is  to  act  a  stage-play  at 
the  guildhall  to-morrow  before  Master  Davenant  the 
Mayor  and  the  town  burgesses." 


14  MASTER  SKYLABK 

Simon  Attwood  said  nothing,  but  his  brows  drew  down. 

"They  came  yestreen  from  London  town  by  Oxford 
way  to  play  in  Stratford  and  at  Coventry,  and  are  at  the 
Swan  Inn  with  Master  Geoffrey  Inchbold— oh,  ever  so 
many  of  them,  in  scarlet  jerkins,  and  cloth  of  gold,  and 
doublets  of  silk  laced  up  like  any  lord !  It  is  a  very  good 
company,  they  say." 

Mistress  Attwood  looked  quickly  at  her  husband. 
"  What  will  they  play  ? "  she  asked. 

"I  can  na  say  surely,  mother — ' Tamburlane,'  perhaps, 
or  '  The  Troublesome  Reign  of  Old  King  John/  The  play 
will  be  free,  father— may  I  go,  sir?" 

"  And  lose  thy  time  from  school  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  school  to-morrow,  sir." 

"  Then  have  ye  naught  to  do,  that  ye  waste  the  day  in 
idle  folly  ?  "  asked  the  tanner,  sternly. 

"I  will  do  my  work  beforehand,  sir,"  replied  Nick, 
quietly,  though  his  hand  trembled  a  little  as  he  brushed 
up  the  crumbs. 

"  It  is  May-day,  Simon,"  interceded  Mistress  Attwood, 
"  and  a  bit  of  pleasure  will  na  harm  the  lad." 

"  Pleasure  ? "  said  the  tanner,  sharply.  "  If  he  does  na 
find  pleasure  enough  in  his  work,  his  book,  and  his  home, 
he  shall  na  seek  it  of  low  rogues  and  strolling  scape- 
graces." 

"  But,  Simon,"  said  Mistress  Attwood,  "  't  is  the  Lord 
Admiral's  own  company — surely  they  are  not  all  graceless ! 
And,"  she  continued  with  very  quiet  dignity,  "  since  mine 
own  cousin  Anne  Hathaway  married  Will  SKakspere  the 


NICHOLAS  ATTWOOD'S  HOME  15 

play-actor,  't  is  scarcely  kind  to  call  all  players  rogues 
and  low." 

"No  more  o'  this,  Margaret/7  cried  Attwood,  flushing 
angrily.  "  Thou  art  ever  too  ready  with  the  boy's  part 
against  me.  He  shall  na  go — I  '11  find  a  thing  or  two  for 
him  to  do  among  the  vats  that  will  take  this  taste  for 
idleness  out  of  his  mouth.  He  shall  na  go :  so  that  be  all 
there  is  on  it."  Rising  abruptly,  he  left  the  room. 

Nick  clenched  his  hands. 

"  Nicholas,"  said  his  mother,  softly. 

" Yes,  mother,"  said  he ;  "I  know.  But  he  should  na 
flout  thee  so !  And,  mother,  the  Queen  goes  to  the  play 
—father  himself  saw  her  at  Coventry  ten  years  ago.  Is 
what  the  Queen  does  idle  folly  ? " 

His  mother  took  him  by  the  hand  and  drew  him  to  her 
side,  with  a  smile  that  was  half  a  sigh.  "Art  thou  the 
Queen  ? " 

"  Nay,"  said  he ;  "  and  it  's  all  the  better  for  England, 
bke  enough.  But  surely,  mother,  it  can  na  be  wrong—" 

"  To  honour  thy  father  ? "  said  she,  quickly,  laying  her 
finger  across  his  lips.  "Nay,  lad;  it  is  thy  bounden 
duty." 

Nick  turned  and  looked  up  at  her  wonderingly. 
"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  art  thou  an  angel  come  down  out  of 
heaven  ? " 

"  Nay,"  she  answered,  patting  his  flushed  cheek ;  "  I  be 
only  the  every-day  mother  of  a  fierce  little  son  who  hath 
many  a  hard,  hard  lesson  to  learn.  Now  eat  thy  break- 
fast—thou  hast  been  up  a  long  while." 


16  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Nick  kissed  her  impetuously  and  sat  down,  but  his  heart 
still  rankled  within  him. 

All  Stratford  would  go  to  the  play.  He  could  hear  the 
murmur  of  voices  and  music,  the  bursts  of  laughter  and 
applause,  the  tramp  of  happy  feet  going  up  the  guildhall 
stairs  to  the  Mayor's  show.  Everybody  went  in  free  at  the 
Mayor's  show.  The  other  boys  could  stand  on  stools  and 
see  it  all.  They  could  hold  horses  at  the  gate  of  the  inn 
at  the  September  fair,  and  so  see  all  the  farces.  They 
could  see  the  famous  Norwich  puppet-play.  But  he— what 
pleasure  did  he  ever  have  ?  A  tawdry  pageant  by  a  lot  of 
clumsy  country  bumpkins  at  Whitsuntide  or  Pentecost,  or 
a  silly  school-boy  masque  at  Christmas,  with  the  master 
scolding  like  a  heathen  Turk.  It  was  not  fair. 

And  now  he  'd  have  to  work  all  May-day.  May-day 
out  of  all  the  year!  Why,  there  was  to  be  a  May-pole 
and  a  morris-dance,  and  a  roasted  calf,  too,  in  Master 
Wainwright's  field,  since  Margery  was  chosen  Queen  of 
the  May.  And  Peter  Finch  was  to  be  Robin  Hood,  and 
Nan  Rogers  Maid  Marian,  and  wear  a  kirtle  of  Kendal 
green— and,  oh,  but  the  May-pole  would  be  brave ;  high  as 
the  ridge  of  the  guildschool  roof,  and  hung  with  ribbons 
like  a  rainbow !  Geoffrey  Hall  was  to  lead  the  dance, 
too,  and  the  other  boys  and  girls  would  all  be  there.  And 
where  would  he  be  ?  Sousing  hides  in  the  tannery  vats. 
Truly  his  father  was  a  hard  man ! 

He  pushed  the  cheese  away. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  LAST  STRAW 

ETTLE  John  Summer  had  a  new  horn-book  that  cost 
a  silver  penny.  The  handle  was  carven  and  the 
horn  was  clear  as  honey.  The  other  little  boys  stood  round 
about  in  speechless  envy,  or  murmured  their  A  B  C's  and 
"  ba  be  bi's  "  along  the  chapel  steps.  The  lower-form  boys 
were  playing  leap-frog  past  the  almshouse,  and  Geoffrey 
Gosse  and  the  vicar's  son  were  in  the  public  gravel-pit, 
throwing  stones  at  the  robins  in  the  Great  House  elms 
across  the  lane. 

Some  few  dull  fellows  sat  upon  the  steps  behind  the 
school-house,  anxiously  poring  over  their  books.  But  the 
larger  boys  of  the  Fable  Class  stood  in  an  excited  group 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  overhanging  second  story  of 
the  grammar-school,  talking  all  at  once,  each  louder  than 
the  other,  until  the  noise  was  deafening. 

"  Oh,  Nick,  such   goings   on ! "  called  Robin  Getley, 

whose  father  was  a  burgess,  as  Nick  Attwood  came  slowly 

up  the  street,  saying  his  sentences  for  the  day  over  and 

over  to  himself  in  hopeless  desperation,  having  had  no 

*  17 


18  MASTER  SKYLARK 

time  to  learn  them  at  home.  "  Stratford  Council  has  had 
a  quarrel,  and  there  's  to  be  no  stage-play  after  all." 

"  What  ? "  cried  Nick,  in  amazement.  "  No  stage-play  ? 
And  why  not  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  Robin,  "it  was  just  this  way— my  father 
told  me  of  it.  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  High  Sheriff  of  Worces- 
ter, y'  know,  rode  in  from  Charlcote  yesternoon,  and 
with  him  Sir  Edward  Greville  of  Milcote.  So  the  bur- 
gesses made  a  feast  for  them  at  the  Swan  Inn.  Sir 
Thomas  fetched  a  fine,  fat  buck,  and  the  town  stood  good 
for  ninepence  wine  and  twopence  bread,  and  broached  a 
keg  of  sturgeon.  And  when  they  were  all  met  together 
there,  eating,  and  drinking,  and  making  merry— what? 
Why,  in  came  my  Lord  Admiral's  players  from  London 
town,  ruffling  it  like  high  dukes,  and  not  caring  two  pops 
for  Sir  Thomas,  or  Sir  Edward,  or  for  Stratford  burgesses 
all  in  a  heap ;  but  sat  them  down  at  the  table  straightway, 
and  called  for  ale,  as  if  they  owned  the  place ;  and  not 
being  served  as  soon  as  they  desired,  they  laid  hands  upon 
Sir  Thomas's  server  as  he  came  in  from  the  buttery  with 
his  tray  full,  and  took  both  meat  and  drink." 

"What? "cried  Nick. 

"  As  sure  as  shooting,  they  did ! n  said  Robin ;  "  and 
when  Sir  Thomas's  gentry  yeomen  would  have  seen  to  it 
—what  ?  Why,  my  Lord  Admiral's  master-player  clapped 
his  hand  to  his  poniard-hilt,  and  dared  them  come  and 
take  it  if  they  could." 

"  To  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  men  ? "  exclaimed  Nick,  aghast 

"  Ay,  to  their  teeth !     Sir  Edward  sprang  up  then,  and 


THE  LAST  STRAW  19 

said  it  was  a  shame  for  players  to  oenave  so  outrageously 
in  Will  Shakspere's  own  home  town.  And  at  that  Sir 
Thomas,  who,  y'  know,  has  always  misliked  Will,  flared 
up  like  a  bull  at  a  red  rag,  and  swore  that  all  stage-play- 
ers be  runagate  rogues,  anyway,  and  Will  Shakspere 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  deer-stealing  scape-gallows." 

"  Surely  he  did  na  say  that  in  Stratford  Council  ? "  pro- 
tested Nick. 

"Ay,  but  he  did— that  very  thing,"  said  Robin;  "and 
when  that  was  out,  the  master-player  sprang  upon  the 
table,  overturning  half  the  ale,  and  cried  out  that  Will 
Shakspere  was  his  very  own  true  friend,  and  the  sweetest 
fellow  in  all  England,  and  that  whosoever  gainsaid  it  was 
a  hemp-cracking  rascal,  and  that  he  would  prove  it  upon 
his  back  with  a  quarter-staff  whenever  and  wherever  he 
chose,  be  he  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  St.  George  and  the  Dragon, 
Guy  of  Warwick,  and  the  great  dun  cow,  all  rolled  up  in 
one ! " 

"  Robin  Getley,  is  this  the  very  truth,  or  art  thou  cozen- 
ing me  ? " 

"Upon  my  word,  it  is  the  truth,"  said  Robin.  "And 
that 's  not  all.  Sir  Edward  cried  out  *  Fie ! '  upon  the 
player  for  a  saucy  varlet ;  but  the  fellow  only  laughed,  and 
bowed  quite  low,  and  said  that  he  took  no  offense  from 
Sir  Edward  for  saying  that,  since  it  could  not  honestly  be 
denied,  but  that  Sir  Thomas  did  not  know  the  truth  from 
a  truckle-bed  in  broad  daylight,  and  was  but  the  remnant 
of  a  gentleman  to  boot." 

"  The  bold-faced  rogue  1 » 


20  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Ay,  that  he  is,"  nodded  Robin ;  "  and  for  his  boldness 
Sir  Thomas  straightway  demanded  that  the  High  Bailiff 
refuse  the  company  license  to  play  in  Stratford." 

"  Refuse  the  Lord  High  Admiral's  players  ? " 

"  Marry,  no  one  else.  And  then  Master  John  Shakspere. 
wroth  at  what  Sir  Thomas  had  said  of  his  son  Will,  vowed 
that  he  would  send  a  letter  down  to  London  town,  and  lay 
the  whole  coil  before  the  Lord  High  Admiral  himself. 
For  ever  since  that  he  was  High  Bailiff,  the  best  compa- 
nies of  England  had  always  been  bidden  to  play  in  Strat- 
ford, and  it  would  be  an  ill  thing  now  to  refuse  the  Lord 
Admiral's  company  after  granting  licenses  to  both  my 
Lord  Pembroke's  and  the  High  Chamberlain's." 

"  And  so  it  would,"  spoke  up  Walter  Roche ;  "  for  there 
are  our  own  townsmen,  Richard  and  Cuthbert  Burbage, 
who  are  cousins  of  mine,  a,nd  John  Hemynge  and  Thomas 
Greene,  besides  Will  Sfyalbspere  and  his  brother  Edmund, 
all  playing  in  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company  in  London 
before  the  Queen,  ^t  would  be  a  black  score  against  them 
all  with  the  Lorn  Admiral— I  doubt  not  he  would  pay 
them  out." 

"  That  he  would,"  said  Robin,  "  and  so  said  my  father 
and  Alderman  Henry  Walker,  who,  y'  know,  is  Will 
Shakspere's  own  friend.  And  some  of  the  burgesses  who 
cared  not  a  rap  for  that  were  afeard  of  offending  the 
Lord  Admiral.  But  Sir  Thomas  vowed  that  my  Lord 
Howard  was  at  Cadiz  with  Walter  Raleigh  and  the  young 
Earl  of  Sussex,  and  would  by  no  means  hear  of  it.  So 
Master  Bailiff  Stubbes,  who,  't  is  said,  doth  owe  Sir  Thomas 


THE  LAST  STRAW  21 

forty  pound,  and  is  therefore  under  his  thumb,  forthwith 
refused  the  company  license  to  play  in  Stratford  guild- 
hall, inn-yard,  or  common.  And  at  that  the  master-player 
threw  his  glove  into  Master  Stubbes's  face,  and  called 
Sir  Thomas  a  stupid  old  bell-wether,  and  Stratford  bur- 
gesses silly  sheep  for  following  wherever  he  chose  to 
jump." 

"  And  so  they  be,"  sneered  Hal  Saddler. 

"  How  ?  "  cried  Robin,  hotly.  "  My  father  is  a  burgess. 
Dost  thou  call  him  a  sheep,  Hal  Saddler  ?  " 

"Nay,  nay,"  stammered  Hal,  hastily;  "'t  was  not  thy 
father  I  meant." 

"  Then  hold  thy  tongue  with  both  hands,"  said  Robin, 
sharply,  "  or  it  will  crack  thy  pate  for  thee  some  of  these 
fine  days." 

"  But  come,  Robin,"  asked  Nick,  eagerly,  "  what  became 
of  the  quarrel  ?  " 

"Well,  when  the  master-player  threw  his  glove  into 
Master  Stubbes's  face,  the  Chief  Constable  seized  him  for 
contempt  of  Stratford  Council,  and  held  him  for  trial. 
At  that  some  cried  '  Shame ! '  and  some  '  Hurrah ! '  but  the 
rest  of  the  players  fled  out  of  town  in  the  night,  lest  their 
baggage  be  taken  by  the  law  and  they  be  fined." 

"Whither  did  they  go?"  asked  Nick,  both  sorry  and 
glad  to  hear  that  they  were  gone. 

"To  Coventry,  and  left  the  master-player  behind  in 
gaol." 

"Why,  they  dare  na  use  him  so— the  Lord  Admiral's 
own  man ! " 


22  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"Ay,  that  they  don't!  Why,  hark  'e,  Nick!  This 
morning,  since  Sir  Thomas  has  gone  home,  and  the  bur- 
gesses' heads  have  all  cooled  down  from  the  sack  and  the 
clary  they  were  in  last  night,  la !  but  they  are  in  a  pretty 
stew,  my  father  says,  for  fear  that  they  have  given  offense 
to  the  Lord  Admiral.  So  they  have  spoken  the  master- 
player  softly,  and  given  him  his  freedom  out  of  hand,  and 
a  long  gold  chain  to  twine  about  his  cap,  to  mend  the 
matter  with,  beside." 

"  Whee-ew ! n  whistled  Nick.  "  I  wish  I  were  a  master- 
player  ! " 

"  Oh,  but  he  will  not  be  pleased,  and  says  he  will  have 
his  revenge  on  Stratford  town  if  he  must  needs  wait  until 
the  end  of  the  world  or  go  to  the  Indies  after  it.  And 
he  has  had  his  breakfast  served  in  Master  Geoffrey  Inch- 
bold's  own  room  at  the  Swan,  and  swears  that  he  will 
walk  the  whole  way  to  Coventry  sooner  than  straddle  the 
horse  that  the  burgesses  have  sent  him  to  ride." 

"  What !  Is  he  at  the  inn  ?  Why,  let 's  go  down  and 
see  him." 

"Master  Brunswood  says  that  he  will  birch  whoever 
cometh  late,"  objected  Hal  Saddler. 

"  Birch  ? "  groaned  Nick.  "  Why,  he  does  nothing  but 
birch!  A  fellow  can  na  say  his  'sum,  es,  est'  without 
catching  it.  And  as  for  getting  through  the  '  genitive 
and  'vocativo'  without  a  downright  threshing—  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  ruefully  as  he  remembered  his 
unlearned  lesson.  Everything  had  gone  wrong  with  him 
that  morning,  and  the  thought  of  the  birching  that  he 


THE  LAST  STRAW  23 

was  sure  to  get  was  more  than  lie  could  bear.    "I  will  na 
stand  it  any  longer — I'll  run  away!" 

Kit  Sedgewick  laughed  ironically.  "And  when  the 
skies  fall  we  '11  catch  sparrows,  Nick  Attwood,"  said  he 
"Whither  wilt  thou  run?" 

Stung  by  his  tone  of  ridicule,  Nick  out  with  the  first 
thing  that  came  into  his  head.  "To  Coventry,  after  the 
stage-players,"  said  he,  defiantly. 

The  whole  crowd  gave  an  incredulous  hoot. 

Nick's  face  flushed.  To  be  crossed  at  home,  to  be 
birched  at  school,  to  work  all  May-day  in  the  tannery 
vats,  and  to  be  laughed  at — it  was  too  much. 

"Ye  think  that  I  will  na?  Well,  I '11  show  ye!  T  is 
only  eight  miles  to  Warwick,  and  hardly  more  than  that 
beyond — no  walk  at  all;  and  Diccon  Haggard,  my 
mother's  cousin,  lives  in  Coventry.  So  out  upon  your 
musty  Latin — English  is  good  enough  for  me  this  day! 
There 's  bluebells  blowing  in  the  dingles,  and  cuckoo-buds 
no  end.  And  while  ye  are  all  grinding  at  your  old  ^sop 
I  shall  be  roaming  over  the  hills  wherever  I  please." 

As  he  spoke  he  thought  of  the  dark,  wainscoted  walls 
of  the  school-room  with  their  narrow  little  windows  over- 
head, of  the  foul-smelling  floors  of  the  tannery  in  Southam's 
lane,  and  his  heart  gave  a  great,  rebellious  leap.  "Ay," 
said  he,  exultantly,  "  I  shall  be  out  where  the  birds  can 
sing  and  the  grass  is  green,  and  I  shall  see  the  stage-play, 
while  ye  will  be  mewed  up  all  day  long  in  school,  and 
have  nothing  but  a  beggarly  morris  and  a  farthing  May- 
pole on  the  morrow." 


24  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Oh,  no  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  Hal  Saddler,  mockingly 
"  We  shall  have  but  bread  and  milk,  and  thou  shalt  have 
—a  most  glorious  threshing  from  thy  father  when  thou 
comest  home  again ! " 

That  was  the  last  straw  to  Nick's  unhappy  heart. 

"'T  is  a  threshing  either  way,"  said  he,  squaring  his 
shoulders  doggedly.  "Father  will  thresh  me  if  I  run 
away,  and  Master  Brunswood  will  thresh  me  if  I  don't. 
I  '11  not  be  birched  four  times  a  week  for  merely  tripping 
on  a  word,  and  have  nothing  to  show  for  it  but  stripes. 
If  I  must  take  a  threshing,  I  '11  have  my  good  day's  game 
out  first." 

"But  wilt  thou  truly  go  to  Coventry,  Nick?"  asked 
Eobin  Getley,  earnestly,  for  he  liked  Nick  more  than  all 
the  rest. 

"Ay,  truly,  Eobin— that  I  will";  and,  turning,  Nick 
walked  swiftly  away  toward  the  market-place,  never  look- 
ing back. 


CHAPTER  IV 

OFF  FOR   COVENTRY 

AT  the  Bridge  street  crossing  Nick  paused  irresolute. 
tj\  Around  the  public  pump  a  chattering  throng  of 
housewives  were  washing  out  their  towels  and  hanging 
them  upon  the  market-cross  to  dry.  Along  the  stalls  in 
Middle  Row  the  grumbling  shopmen  were  casting  up  their 
sales  from  tallies  chalked  upon  their  window-ledges,  or 
cuffing  their  tardy  apprentices  with  no  light  hand. 

John  Gibson's  cart  was  hauling  gravel  from  the  pits  in 
Henley  street  to  mend  the  causeway  at  the  bridge,  which 
had  been  badly  washed  by  the  late  spring  floods,  and  the 
fine  sand  dribbled  from  the  cart-tail  like  the  sand  in  au 
hour-glass. 

Here  and  there  loutish  farm-hands  waited  for  work; 
and  at  the  corner  two  or  three  stout  cudgel-men  leaned 
upon  their  long  staves,  although  the  market  was  two 
days  closed,  and  there  was  not  a  Coventry  merchant  in 
sight  to  be  driven  away  from  Stratford  trade. 

Goody  Baker  with  her  shovel  and  broom  of  twigs  was 
sweeping  up  the  market  litter  in  the  square.  Nick  won- 

25 


26  MASTER  SKYLARK 

dered  if  his  own  mother's  back  would  be  so  bent  when 
she  grew  old. 

"  Whur  be-est  going,  Nick  ? " 

Roger  Dawson  sat  astride  a  stick  of  timber  in  front  of 
Master  Geoffrey  Thompson's  new  house,  watching  Tom 
Carpenter  the  carver  cut  fleur-de-lis  and  curling  traceries 
upon  the  front  wall  beams.  He  was  a  tenant-farmer's 
son,  this  Roger,  and  a  likely  good-for-naught. 

"  To  Coventry,"  said  Nick,  curtly 

"Wilt  take  a  fellow  wi'  thee?" 

Poor  company  might  be  better  than  none. 

"  Come  on." 

Roger  lumbered  to  his  feet  and  trotted  after. 

"  No  school  to-day  ? "  he  asked. 

"Not  for  me,"  answered  Nick,  shortly,  for  he  did  not 
care  to  talk  about  it. 

"  Faither  wull  na  have  I  go  to  school,  since  us  ha'  corned 
to  town,  an'  plough-land  sold  for  grazings,"  drawled 
Roger ;  "  Muster  Pine  o'  Welf  ord  saith  that  I  ha'  learned 
as  much  as  faither  ever  knowed,  an'  't  is  enow  for  I. 
Faither  saith  it  maketh  saucy  rogues  o'  sons  to  know 
more  than  they's  own  dads." 

Nick  wondered  if  it  did.  His  own  father  could  neither 
read  nor  write,  while  he  could  do  both  and  had  some  Latin, 
too.  At  the  thought  of  the  Latin  he  made  a  wry  face. 

"Joe  Carter  be-eth  in  the  stocks,"  said  Roger,  peering 
through  the  jeering  crowd  about  the  pillory  and  post ;  "  a 
broke  Tom  Samson's  pate  wi'  's  ale-can  yestreen." 

But  Nick  pushed  on.    A  few  ruddv-faced  farmers  and 


BE-EST  GOING,  NICK?-  ASKKU  BOOEB  DAWSON." 


OFF  FOR  COVENTRY  27 

drovers  from  the  Red  Horse  Vale  still  lingered  at  the 
Boar  Inn  door  and  by  the  tap-room  of  the  Crown ;  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  street  a  crowd  of  salters,  butchers,  and 
dealers  in  hides,  with  tallow-smeared  doublets  and  doubt- 
ful hose,  were  squabbling  loudly  about  the  prices  set  upon 
their  wares. 

In  the  midst  of  them  Nick  saw  his  father,  and  scurried 
away  into  Back  Bridge  street  as  fast  as  he  could,  feeling 
very  near  a  sneak,  but  far  from  altering  his  purpose. 

"  Job  Hortop,"  said  Simon  Attwood  to  his  apprentice  at 
his  side,  looking  out  suddenly  over  the  crowd,  "  was  that 
my  Nick  yonder  ? " 

"  Nay,  master,  could  na  been,"  said  Job,  stolidly ;  "  Nick 
be-eth  in  school  by  now— the  clock  ha'  struck.    'T 
Dawson's  Hodge  and  some  like  ne'er-do-welL" 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  THE   WARWICK  ROAD 

THE  land  was  full  of  morning  sounds  as  the  lads 
trudged  along  the  Warwick  road  together.  An  ax 
rang  somewhere  deep  in  the  woods  of  Arden ;  cart-wheels 
rattled  on  the  stony  road ;  a  blackbird  whistled  shrilly  in 
the  hedge,  and  they  heard  the  deep-tongued  belling  of 
hounds  far  off  in  Fulbroke  park. 

Now  and  then  a  heron,  rising  from  the  river,  trailed  its 
long  legs  across  the  sky,  or  a  kingfisher  sparkled  in  his 
own  splash.  Once  a  lonely  fisherman  down  by  the  Avon 
started  a  wild  duck  from  the  sedge,  and  away  it  went  pat- 
tering up-stream  with  frightened  wings  and  red  feet 
running  along  the  water.  And  then  a  river-rat  plumped 
into  the  stream  beneath  the  willows,  and  left  a  long  string 
of  bubbles  behind  him. 

Nick's  ill  humor  soon  wore  off  as  he  breathed  the  fresh 
air,  moist  from  lush  meadows,  and  sweet  from  hedges  pink 
and  white  with  hawthorn  bloom.  The  thought  of  being 
pent  up  on  such  a  day  grew  more  and  more  unbearable, 
and  a  blithe  sense  of  freedom  from  all  restraint  blunted 
the  prick  of  conscience. 

28 


IN  THE   WARWICK  ROAD  29 

"  Why  art  going  to  Coventry,  Nick  ? "  inquired  Roger, 
suddenly,  startled  by  a  thought  coming  into  his  wits  like 
a  child  by  a  bat  in  the  room. 

"  To  see  the  stage-play  that  the  burgesses  would  na  allow 
in  Stratford." 

"Wulllsee,  too?" 

"  If  thou  hast  eyes— the  Mayor's  show  is  free." 

"  Oh,  f eckins,  wun't  it  be  fine  ? "  gaped  Hodge.  "  Be  it 
a  tailors'  show,  Nick,  wi'  Herod  the  King,  and  a  rope  for 
to  hang  Judas  ?  An'  wall  they  set  the  world  afire  wi'  a 
torch,  an'  make  the  earth  quake  fearful  wi'  a  barrel  full 
o'  stones  ?  Or  wull  it  be  Sin  in  a  motley  gown  a-thumping 
the  Black  Man  over  the  pate  wi'  a  bladder  full  o'  peasen — 
an'  angels  wi'  silver  wingses,  an'  saints  wi'  goolden  hair? 
Or  wull  it  be  a  giant  nine  yards  high,  clad  in  the  beards 
o'  murdered  kings,  like  granny  saith  she  used  to  see  ? " 

"  Pshaw !  no,"  said  Nick ;  "  none  of  those  old-fashioned 
things.  These  be  players  from  London  town,  and  I  hope 
they  '11  play  a  right  good  English  history-play,  like  '  The 
Famous  Victories  of  Henry  Fift,'  to  turn  a  fellow's  legs 
all  goose-flesh ! " 

Hodge  stopped  short  in  the  road.  "  La !  "  said  he,  "  I  '11 
go  no  furder  if  they  turn  me  to  a  goose.  I  wunnot  be 
turned  goose,  Nick  Attwood— an'  a  plague  on  all  witches, 
says  I ! " 

"  Oh,  pshaw ! "  laughed  Nick ;  "  come  on.  No  witch  in 
the  world  could  turn  thee  bigger  goose  than  thou  art  now. 
Come  along  wi'  thee ;  there  be  no  witches  there  at  all." 

"  Art  sure  thou  'rt  not  bedaffing  me  ? "  hesitated  Hodge, 


30  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"Good,  then;  I  be  na  feared.  Art  sure  there  be  no 
witches  ? " 

"  Why,"  said  Nick,  "  would  Master  Burgess  John  Shak- 
spere  leave  his  son  Will  to  do  with  witches  ? " 

"I  dunno,"  faltered  Hodge;  "a  told  Muster  Robin 
Bowles  it  was  na  right  to  drownd  'em  in  the  river." 

Nick  hesitated.  "  Maybe  it  kills  the  fish,"  said  he ;  "  and 
Master  Will  Shakspere  always  liked  to  fish.  But  they 
burn  witches  in  London,  Hodge,  and  he  has  na  put  a  stop 
to  it— and  he  's  a  great  man  in  London  town." 

Hodge  came  on  a  little  way,  shaking  his  head  like  an 
old  sheep  in  a  corner.  "  Wully  Shaxper  a  great  man  ? " 
said  he.  "  Why,  a's  name  be  cut  on  the  old  beech-tree  up 
Snitterfield  lane,  where  's  uncle  Henry  Shaxper  lives,  an' 
t  is  but  poorly  done.  I  could  do  better  wi'  my  own 
whittle." 

"  Ay,  Hodge,"  cried  Nick ;  "  and  that 's  about  all  thou 
canst  do.  Dost  think  that  a  man's  greatness  hangs  on  so 
little  a  thing  as  his  sleight  of  hand  at  cutting  his  name  on 
a  tree?" 

"  Wull,  maybe ;  maybe  not ;  but  if  a  be  a  great  man, 
Nick  Attwood,  a  might  do  a  little  thing  passing  well— so 
there,  now ! " 

Nick  pondered  for  a  moment.  "  I  do  na  know,"  said  he, 
slowly ;  "  heaps  of  men  can  do  the  little  things,  but  parlous 
few  the  big.  So  some  one  must  be  bigging  it,  or  folks 
would  all  sing  very  small.  And  he  doeth  the  big  most 
beautiful,  they  say.  They  call  him  the  Swan  of  Avon," 

"  Avon  swans  be  mostly  geese,"  said  Hodge,  vacantly. 


IN  THE  WARWICK  EOAD  31 

"  Now,  look  'e  here,  Hodge  Dawson,  don't  thou  be  calL 
ing  Master  Will  Shakspere  goose.  He  married  my  own 
mother's  cousin,  and  I  will  na  have  it." 

"La,  now,"  drawled  Hodge,  staring,  "'t  is  nowt  to  me. 
Thy  Muster  Wully  Shaxper  may  be  all  the  long-necked 
fowls  in  Warrickshire  for  all  I  care.  And,  anyway,  I  'd 
like  to  know,  Nick  Attwood,  since  when  hath  a  been  '  Mus- 
ter Shaxper  '—that  ne'er-do-well,  play-actoring  fellow  ? " 

"Ne'er-do-well?  It  is  na  so.  When  he  was  hero  last 
summer  he  was  bravely  dressed,  and  had  a  heap  of  good 
gold  nobles  in  his  purse.  And  he  gave  Rick  Hawkins, 
that  's  blind  of  an  eye,  a  shilling  for  only  holding  his 
horse." 

"  Oh,  ay,"  drawled  Hodge ;  "  a  fool  and  a's  money  be 
soon  parted." 

"Will  Shakspere  is  no  fool,"  declared  Nick,  hotly. 
"  He 's  made  a  peck  o'  money  there  in  London  town,  and  *s 
going  to  buy  the  Great  House  in  Chapel  lane,  and  come 
back  here  to  live." 

"  Then  a  's  a  witless  azzy !  "  blurted  Hodge.  "  If  a  's 
so  great  a  man  amongst  the  lords  and  earlses,  a  'd  na 
come  back  to  Stratford.  An'  I  say  a  's  a  witless  loon— 
so  there ! " 

Nick  whirled  around  in  the  road.  "  And  I  say,  Hodge 
Dawson,"  he  exclaimed  with  flashing  eyes,  "  that  't  is  a 
shame  for  a  lout  like  thee  to  so  miscall  thy  thousand-time 
betters.  And  what 's  more,  thou  shalt  unsay  that,  or  I 
will  make  thee  swallow  thy  words  right  here  and  now ! " 

"  I  'd  loike  to  see  thee  try,"  Hodge  began ;  but  the  words 


32  MASTER  SKYLARK 

were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  he  found  himself 
stretched  on  the  grass,  Nick  Attwood  bending  over  him. 

"  There !  thou  hast  seen  it  tried.  Now  come,  take  that 
back,  or  I  will  surely  box  thine  ears  for  thee." 

Hodge  blinked  and  gaped,  collecting  his  wits,  which 
had  scattered  to  the  four  winds.  "Whoy,"  said  he, 
vaguely,  "  if  't  is  all  o'  that  to  thee,  I  take  it  back." 

Nick  rose,  and  Hodge  scrambled  clumsily  to  his  feet. 
"  I  '11  na  go  wi'  thee,"  said  he,  sulkily ;  "  I  will  na  go  whur 
I  be  whupped." 

Nick  turned  on  his  heel  without  a  word,  and  started  on. 

"An'  what  's  more,"  bawled  Hodge  after  him,  "thy 
Muster  Wully  Shaxper  be-eth  an  old  gray  goose,  an'  boo 
to  he,  says  I ! " 

As  he  spoke  he  turned,  dived  through  the  thin  hedge, 
and  galloped  across  the  field  as  if  an  army  were  at  his 
heels. 

Nick  started  back,  but  quickly  paused.  "  Thou  needst 
na  run,"  he  called ;  "  I  've  not  the  time  to  catch  thee  now. 
But  mind  ye  this,  Hodge  Dawson :  when  I  do  come  back, 
I  '11  teach  thee  who  thy  betters  be— Will  Shakspere  first 
of  all ! " 

"  Well  crowed,  well  crowed,  my  jolly  cockerel ! "  on  a 
sudden  called  a  keen,  high  voice  beyond  the  hedge  behind 
him. 

Nick,  startled,  whirled  about  just  in  time  to  see  a 
stranger  leap  the  hedge  and  come  striding  up  the  road. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  MASTER-PLAYER 

HE  had  trim,  straight  legs,  this  stranger,  and  a  slen. 
der,  lithe  body  in  a  tawny  silken  jerkin.  Square- 
shouldered,  too,  was  he,  and  over  one  shoulder  hung  a 
plum-colored  cloak  bordered  with  gold  braid.  His  long 
hose  were  the  color  of  his  cloak,  and  his  shoes  were  russet 
leather,  with  rosettes  of  plum,  and  such  high  heels  as  Nick 
had  never  seen  before.  His  bonnet  was  of  tawny  velvet, 
with  a  chain  twisted  round  it,  fastened  by  a  jeweled  brooch 
through  which  was  thrust  a  curly  cock-feather.  A  fine 
white  Holland-linen  shirt  peeped  through  his  jerkin  at  the 
throat,  with  a  broad  lace  collar ;  and  his  short  hair  curled 
crisply  all  over  his  head.  He  had  a  little  pointed  beard, 
and  the  ends  of  his  mustache  were  twisted  so  that  they 
stood  up  fiercely  on  either  side  of  his  sharp  nose.  At  his 
side  was  a  long  Italian  poniard  in  a  sheath  of  russet  leather 
and  silver  filigree,  and  he  had  a  reckless,  high  and  mighty 
fling  about  his  stride  that  strangely  took  the  eye. 

Nick  stood,  all  taken  by  surprise,  and  stared. 

The  stranger  seemed  to  like  it,  but  scowled  nevertheless. 
•  33 


34  MASTER   SKYLARK 

"  Wliat !  How  now  ?  "  he  cried  sharply.  "  Dost  like  or 
like  me  not  ? " 

"  Why,  sir,"  stammered  Nick,  utterly  lost  for  anything 
to  say— "why,  sir,—"  and  knowing  nothing  else  to  do, he 
took  off  his  cap  and  bowed. 

"  Come,  come,"  snapped  the  stranger,  stamping  his  foot, 
"  I  am  a  swashing,  ruffling,  desperate  Dick,  and  not  to  be 
made  a  common  jest  for  Stratford  dolts  to  giggle  at 
What !  These  legs,  that  have  put  on  the  very  gentleman 
in  proud  Verona's  streets,  laid  in  Stratford's  common 
stocks,  like  a  silly  apprentice's  slouching  heels?  Nay, 
nay ;  some  one  should  taste  old  Bless-his-heart  here  first ! n 
and  with  that  he  clapped  his  hand  upon  the  hilt  of  his 
poniard,  with  a  wonderful  swaggering  tilt  of  his  shoulders. 
"  Dost  take  me,  boy  ?" 

"Why,  sir,"  hesitated  Nick,  no  little  awed  by  the 
stranger's  wild  words  and  imperious  way,  "ye  surely  are 
the  master-player." 

"  There ! "  cried  the  stranger,  whirling  about,  as  if  defy- 
ing some  one  in  the  hedge.  "  Who  said  I  could  not  act  T 
Why,  see,  he  took  me  at  a  touch !  Say,  boy,"  he  laughed, 
and  turned  to  Nick,  "  thou  art  no  fool.  Why,  boy,  I  say 
I  love  thee  now  for  this,  since  what  hath  passed  in  Strat- 
ford. A  murrain  on  the  town  !  Dost  hear  me,  boy  ?— a 
black  murrain  on  the  town ! "  And  all  at  once  he  made 
such  a  fierce  stride  toward  Nick,  gritting  his  white  teeth, 
and  clapping  his  hand  upon  his  poniard,  that  Nick  drew 
back  afraid  of  him. 

"But  nay,"  hissed  the  stranger,  and  spat  with  scorn/ 


"WHAT I    HOW  NOW?'  CKIEJ)  THE  8TRANGEK,  SHABPLY.    'DOST  LIKE  OB 
ME  NOT?"' 


THE  MASTER-PLAYER  35 

"a  town  like  that  is  its  own  murrain— let  it  sicken  on 
itself!" 

He  struck  an  attitude,  and  waved  his  hand  as  if  he  were 
talking  quite  as  much  to  the  trees  and  sky  as  he  was  to 
Nick  Attwood,  and  looked  about  him  as  if  waiting  for  ap- 
plause. Then  all  at  once  he  laughed,— a  rollicking,  merry 
laugh, — and  threw  off  his  furious  manner  as  one  does  an 
old  coat.  "  Well,  boy,"  said  he,  with  a  quiet  smile,  looking 
kindly  at  Nick,  "  thou  art  a  right  stanch  little  friend  to 
all  of  us  stage-players.  And  I  thank  thee  for  it  in  Will 
Shakspere's  name ;  for  he  is  the  sweetest  fellow  of  us  all." 

His  voice  was  simple,  frank,  and  free— so  different  from 
the  mad  tone  in  which  he  had  just  been  ranting  that  Nick 
caught  his  breath  with  surprise. 

"  Nay,  lad,  look  not  so  dashed,"  said  the  master-player, 
merrily ;  "  that  was  only  old  Jem  Burbage's  mighty  tragic 
style;  and  I— I  am  only  Gaston  Carew,  hail-fellow-well 
met  with  all  true  hearts.  Be  known  to  me,  lad ;  what  is 
thy  name  ?  I  like  thy  open,  pretty  face." 

Nick  flushed.     "  Nicholas  Attwood  is  my  name,  sir." 

"  Nicholas  Attwood  ?  Why,  it  is  a  good  name.  Nick 
Attwood,— young  Nick,— I  hope  Old  Nick  will  never  catch 
thee— upon  my  word  I  do,  and  on  the  remnant  of  mine 
honour !  Thou  hast  taken  a  player's  part  like  a  man,  and 
thou  art  a  good  fellow,  Nicholas  Attwood,  and  I  love  thee. 
So  thou  art  going  to  Coventry  to  see  the  players  act? 
Surely  thine  is  a  nimble  wit  to  follow  fancy  nineteen  miles. 
Come;  I  am  going  to  Coventry  to  join  my  fellows.  Wilt 
thou  go  with  me,  Nick,  and  dine  with  us  this  night  at  the 


36  MASTER  SKYLARK 

best  inn  in  all  Coventry— the  Blue  Boar  ?  Thou  hast  quite 
plucked  up  my  downcast  heart  for  me,  lad,  indeed  thou 
hast;  for  I  was  sore  of  Stratford  town— and  I  shall  not 
soon  forget  thy  plucky  fending  for  our  own  sweet  Will 
Come,  say  thou  wilt  go  with  me." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  said  Nick,  bowing  again,  his  head  all  in  a 
whirl  of  excitement  at  this  wonderful  adventure, "  indeed 
I  will,  and  that  right  gladly,  sir."  And  with  heart  beat- 
ing like  a  trip-hammer  he  walked  along,  cap  in  hand,  not 
knowing  that  his  head  was  bare. 

The  master-player  laughed  a  simple,  hearty  laugh. 
"  Why,  Nick,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand  caressingly  upon 
the  boy's  shoulder,  "I  am  no  such  great  to-do  as  all  that 
— upon  my  word,  I  'm  not !  A  man  of  some  few  parts, 
perhaps,  not  common  in  the  world;  but  quite  a  plain 
fellow,  after  all.  Come,  put  off  this  high  humility  and  be 
just  friendly  withal.  Put  on  thy  cap ;  we  are  but  two  good 
faring-fellows  here." 

So  Nick  put  on  his  cap,  and  they  went  on  together,  Nick 
in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight. 

About  a  mile  beyond  Stratford,  Welcombe  wood  creeps 
down  along  the  left.  Just  beyond,  the  Dingles  wind 
irregularly  up  from  the  foot-path  below  to  the  crest  of 
Welcombe  hill,  through  straggling  clumps  and  briery 
hollows,  sweet  with  nodding  bluebells,  ash,  and  hawthorn 

Nick  and  the  master-player  paused  a  moment  at  tlje  top 
to  catch  their  breath  and  to  look  back. 

Stratford  and  the  valley  of  the  Avon  lay  spread  before 
them  like  a  picture  of  peace,  studded  with  blossoming 


THE  MASTER-PLAYER  37 

orchards  and  girdled  with  spring.  Northward  the  forest 
of  Arden  clad  the  rolling  hills.  Southward  the  fields  of 
Feldon  stretched  away  to  the  blue  knolls  beyond  which  lay 
Oxford  and  Northamptonshire.  The  ragged -stretches  of 
Snitterfield  downs  scrambled  away  to  the  left ;  and  on  the 
right,  beyond  Bearley,  were  the  wooded  uplands  where 
Guy  of  Warwick  and  Heraud  of  Arden  slew  the  wild  ox 
and  the  boar.  And  down  through  the  midst  ran  the  Avon 
southward,  like  a"  silver  ribbon  slipped  through  Kendal 
green,  to  where  the  Sto'ur  comes  down,  past  Luddington. 
to  Bidford,  and  away  to  the  misty  hills. 

"Why,"  exclaimed  the  master-player— "why,  upon  my 
word,  it  is  a  fair  town — as  fair  a  town  as  the  heart  of  man 
could  wish.  Wish?  I  wish  't  were  sunken  in  the  sea, 
with  all  its  pack  of  fools  !  Why,"  said  he,  turning  wrath- 
f ully  upon  Nick,  "  that  old  Sir  Thingumbob  of  thine,  down 
there,  called  me  a  caterpillar  on  the  kingdom  of  England, 
a  vagabond,  and  a  common  player  of  interludes !  Called 
me  vagabond !  Me  !  Why,  I  have  more  good  licenses 
than  he  has  wits.  And  as  to  Master  Bailiff  Stubbes,  I 
have  permits  to  play  from  more  justices  of  the  peace  than 
he  can  shake  a  stick  at  in  a  month  of  Sundays ! "  He 
shook  his  fist  wrathf  ully  at  the  distant  town,  and  gnawed 
his  mustache  until  one  side  pointed  up  and  the  other  down. 
"  But,  hark  'e,  boy,  I  '11  have  my  vengeance  on  them  all- 
ay, that  will  I,  upon  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of  mine 
honour— or  else  my  name  's  not  Gaston  Carew !  " 

"Is  it  true,  sir,"  asked  Nick,  hesitatingly,  "that  they 
despitef ully  handled  you  ?  n 


38  MASTEE  SKYLAEK 

"  With  their  tongues,  ay,"  said  Carew,  bitterly ;  "  but  not 
otherwise."  He  clapped  his  hand  upon  his  poniard,  and 
threw  back  his  head  defiantly.  "  They  dared  not  come  to 
blows— they  knew  my  kind !  Yet  John  Shakspere  is  no 
bad  sort— he  knoweth  what  is  what.  But  Master  Bailiff 
Stubbes,  I  ween,  is  a  long-eared  thing  that  brays  for 
thistles.  I  '11  thistle  him!  He  called  Will  Shakspere 
rogue.  Hast  ever  looked  through  a  red  glass  ? " 

"  Nay,"  said  Nick. 

t:  Well,  it  turns  the  whole  world  red.  And  so  it  is  with 
Master  Stubbes.  He  looks  through  a  pair  of  rogue's  eyes 
and  sees  the  whole  world  rogue.  Why,  boy,"  cried  the 
master-player,  vehemently,  "he  thought  to  buy  my 
tongue !  Marry,  if  tongues  were  troubles  he  has  bought 
himself  a  peck !  What !  Buy  my  silence  ?  Nay,  he  '11 
see  a  deadly  flash  of  silence  when  I  come  to  my  Lord  the 
Admiral  again ! " 


CHAPTER  VH 

"WELL  SUNG,  MASTER  SKYLARK!* 

IT  was  past  high  noon,  and  they  had  long  since  left  War- 
wick castle  far  behind.  "  Nicholas,"  said  the  master- 
player,  in  the  middle  of  a  stream  of  amazing  stories  of  lif  e 
in  London  town,  "  there  is  Blacklow  knoll."  He  pointed 
to  a  little  hill  off  to  the  left. 

Nick  stared ;  he  knew  the  tale :  how  grim  old  Guy  de 
Beauchamp  had  Piers  Gaveston's  head  upon  that  hill  for 
calling  him  the  Black  Hound  of  Arden. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Carew,  "  times  have  changed  since  then, 
boy,  when  thou  couldst  have  a  man's  head  off  for  calling 
thee  a  name—  or  I  would  have  yon  Master  Bailiff  Stubbes's 
head  off  short  behind  the  ears— and  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's 
too ! "  he  added,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  anger,  gritting  his 
teeth  and  clenching  his  hand  upon  his  poniard.  "But, 
Nicholas,  hast  anything  to  eat  ? " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  sir." 

Master  Carew  pulled  from  his  pouch  some  barley-cakes 
and  half  a  small  Banbury  cheese,  yellow  as  gold  and  with 
a  keen,  sharp  savour.  "  'T  is  enough  for  both  of  us,"  said 

39 


40  MASTER  SKYLARK 

he,  as  they  came  to  a  shady  little  wood  with  a  clear, 
mossy-bottomed  spring  running  down  into  a  green  meadow 
with  a  mild  noise,  murmuring  among  the  stones.  "  Come 
along,  Nicholas ;  *we  '11  eat  it  under  the  trees." 

He  had  a  small  flask  of  wine,  but  Nick  drank  no  wine, 
and  went  down  to  the  spring  instead.  There  was  a  wild 
bird  singing  in  a  bush  there,  and  as  he  trotted  down  the 
slope  it  hushed  its  wandering  tune.  Nick  took  the  sound 
up  softly,  and  stood  by  the  wet  stones  a  little  while, 
imitating  the  bird's  trilling  note,  and  laughing  to  hear  it 
answer  timidly,  as  if  it  took  him  for  some  great  new  bird 
Without  wings.  Cocking  its  shy  head  and  watching  him 
shrewdly  with  its  beady  eye,  it  sat,  almost  persuaded  that 
it  was  only  size  which  made  them  different,  until  Nick 
clapped  his  cap  upon  his  head  and  strolled  back,  singing 
as  he  went.  • 

It  was  only  the  thread  of  an  old-fashioned  madrigal 
which  he  had  often  heard  his  mother  sing,  with  quaint 
words  long  since  gone  out  of  style  and  hardly  to  be  un- 
derstood, and  between  the  staves  a  warbling,  wordless  re- 
frain which  he  had  learned  out  on  the  hills  and  in  the 
fields,  picked  up  from  a  bird's  glad-throated  morning- 
song. 

He  had  always  sung  the  plain-tunes  in  church  without 
taking  any  particular  thought  about  it;  and  he  sang 
easily,  with  a  clear  young  voice  which  had  a  fujl,  flute- 
like  note  in  it  like  the  high,  sweet  song  of  a  thrush  singing 
in  deep  woods. 

Gaston  Carew,  the  master-player,  was  sitting  with  his 


"WELL  SUNG,  MASTER  SKYLARK!"  41 

back  against  an  oak,  placidly  munching  the  last  of  the 
cheese,  when  Nick  began  to  sing.  He  started,  straighten, 
ing  up  as  if  some  one  had  called  him  suddenly  out  of  a 
sound  sleep,  and,  turning  his  head,  listened  eagerly. 

Nick  mocked  the  wild  bird,  called  again  with  a  mellow, 
warbling  trill,  and  then  struck  up  the  quaint  old  madrigal 
with  the  bird's  song  running  through  it.  Carew  leaped  to 
his  feet,  with  a  flash  in  his  dark  eyes.  "  My  soul !  my 
soul !  "  he  exclaimed  in  an  excited  undertone.  "  It  is  not 
—nay,  it  cannot  be— why,  't  is— it  is  the  boy !  Upon  my 
heart,  he  hath  a  skylark  prisoned  in  his  throat !  Wett 
sung,  well  sung,  Master  Skylark ! "  he  cried,  clapping  his 
hands  in  real  delight,  as  Nick  came  singing  up  the  bank. 
"  Why,  lad,  I  vow  I  thought  thou  wert  up  in  the  sky  some- 
where, with  wings  to  thy  back !  Where  didst  thou  learn 
that  wonder-song  ? " 

Nick  colored  up,  quite  taken  aback.  "  I  do  na  know, 
sir,"  said  he ;  "  mother  learned  me  part,  and  the  rest  just 
came,  I  think,  sir." 

The  master-player,  his  whole  face  alive  and  eager,  now 
stared  at  Nicholas  Attwood  as  fixedly  as  Nick  had  stared 
at  him. 

It  was  a  hearty  little  English  lad  he  saw,  about  eleven 
years  of  age,  tall,  slender,  trimly  built,  and  fair.  A  gray 
cloth  cap  clung  to  the  side  of  his  curly  yellow  head,  and 
he  wore  a  sleeveless  jerkin  of  dark-blue  serge,  gray  home- 
spun hose,  and  heelless  shoes  of  russet  leather.  The  white 
sleeves  of  his  linen  shirt  were  open  to  the  elbow,  and  his 
arms  were  lithe  and  brown.  His  eyes  were  frankly  clear 


42  MASTER  SKYLAEK 

and  blue,  and  his  red  mouth  had  a  trick  of  smiling  that 
went  straight  to  a  body's  heart. 

"  Why,  lad,  lad,"  cried  Carew,  breathlessly,  "  thou  hast 
a  very  fortune  in  thy  throat !  " 

Nick  looked  up  in  great  surprise ;  and  at  that  the  master 
player  broke  off  suddenly  and  said  no  more,  though  such 
a  strange  light  came  creeping  into  his  eyes  that  Nick,  after 
meeting  his  fixed  stare  for  a  moment,  asked  uneasily  if 
they  would  not  better  be  going  on. 

Without  a  word  the  master-player  started.  Something 
had  come  into  his  head  which  seemed  to  more  than  fill  his 
mind ;  for  as  he  strode  along  he  whistled  under  his  breath 
and  laughed  softly  to  himself.  Then  again  he  snapped 
his  fingers  and  took  a  dancing  step  or  two  across  the  road, 
and  at  last  fell  to  talking  aloud  to  himself,  though  Nick 
could  not  make  out  a  single  word  he  said,  for  it  was  in, 
some  foreign  language. 

"  Nicholas,"  he  said  suddenly,  as  they  passed  the  wind' 
ing  lane  that  leads  away  to  Kenilworth— "Nicholas,  dost 
know  any  other  songs  like  that  ?  " 

"Not  just  like  that,  sir,"  answered  Nick,  not  knowing 
what  to  make  of  his  companion's  strange  new  mood; 
"but  I  know  Master  Will  Shakspere's  'Then  nightly 
sings  the  staring  owl,  tu-who,  tu-whit,  tu-who ! '  and 
'  The  ousel-cock  so  black  of  hue,  with  orange-tawny  bill/ 
and  then,  too,  I  know  the  throstle's  song  that  goes  with 
it." 

"  Why,  to  be  sure— to  be  sure  thou  knowest  old  Nick 
Bottom's  song,  for  is  n't  thy  name  Nick?  Well  met,  both 


"WELL  SUNG,  MASTER  SKYLAEK!"  43 

song  and  singer— well  met,  I  say !  Nay,"  he  said  hastily, 
seeing  Nick  about  to  speak ;  "  I  do  not  care  to  hear  thee 
talk.  Sing  me  all  thy  songs.  I  am  hungry  as  a  wolf  for 
songs.  Why,  Nicholas,  I  must  have  songs!  Come,  lift 
up  that  honeyed  throat  of  thine  and  sing  another  song. 
Be  not  so  backward ;  surely  I  love  thee,  Nick,  and  thou 
wilt  sing  all  of  thy  songs  for  me." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  Nick's  shoulder  in  his  kindly  way, 
and  kept  step  with  him  like  a  bosom  friend,  so  that  Nick's 
heart  beat  high  with  pride,  and  he  sang  all  the  songs  he 
knew  as  they  walked  along. 

Carew  listened  intently,  and  sometimes  with  a  fierce 
eagerness  that  almost  frightened  the  boy ;  and  sometimes 
he  frowned,  and  said  under  his  breath,  "Tut,  tut,  that 
will  not  do ! "  but  oftener  he  laughed  without  a  sound, 
nodding  his  head  in  time  to  the  lilting  tune,  and  seeming 
vastly  pleased  with  Nick,  the  singing,  and  last,  but  not 
least,  with  himself. 

And  when  Nick  had  ended  the  master-player  had  not 
a  word  to  say,  but  for  half  a  mile  gnawed  his  mustache  in 
nervous  silence,  and  looked  Nick  all  over  with  a  long  and 
earnest  look. 

Then  suddenly  he  slapped  his  thigh,  and  tossed  his  head 
back  boldly.  "  1 11  do  it,"  he  said ;  "  I  01  do  it  if  I  dance 
on  air  for  it!  I  '11  have  it  out  of  Master  Stubbes  and 
canting  Stratford  town,  or  may  I  never  thrive !  My  soul ! 
it  is  the  very  thing.  His  eyes  are  like  twin  holidays,  and 
he  breathes  the  breath  of  spring.  Nicholas,  Nicholas  Sky- 
Jark,— Master  Skylark,— why,  it  is  a  good  name,  in  sooth. 


44  MASTER   SKYLARK 

a  very  good  name !  1 11  do  it— I  will,  upon  my  word,  and 
on  the  remnant  of  mine  honour !  " 

"  Did  ye  speak  to  me,  sir  ? "  asked  Nick,  timidly. 

"  Nay,  Nicholas ;  I  was  talking  to  the  moon." 

"  Why,  sir,  the  moon  has  not  come  yet,"  said  Nick,  star- 
ing into  the  western  sky. 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  Master  Carew,  with  a  queer  laugh. 
"Well,  the  silvery  jade  has  missed  the  first  act." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Nick,  reminded  of  the  purpose  of  his  long 
walk,  "what  will  ye  play  for  the  Mayor's  play,  sir?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Carew,  carelessly;  "it  will  all 
be  done  before  I  come.  They  will  have  had  the  free  play 
tijis  afternoon,  so  as  to  catch  the  pence  of  all  the  May-day 
crowd  to-morrow." 

Nick  stopped  in  the  road,  and  his  eyes  filled  up  with 
tears,  so  quick  and  bitter  was  the  disappointment.  "  Why," 
he  cried,  with  a  tremble  in  his  tired  voice,  "  I  thought  the 
free  play  would  be  on  the  morrow— and  now  I  have  not  a 
farthing  to  go  in !  " 

"  Tut,  tut,  thou  silly  lad ! "  laughed  Carew,  frankly ; 
"  am  I  thy  friend  for  naught  ?  What !  let  thee  walk  all 
the  way  to  Coventry,  and  never  see  the  play?  Nay,  on 
iny  soul !  Why,  Nick,  I  love  thee,  lad ;  and  I  '11  do  for 
thee  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Canst  thou  speak  lines 
by  heart?  Well,  then,  say  these  few  after  me,  and  bear 
them  in  thy  mind." 

And  thereupon  he  hastily  repeated  some  half  a  dozen 
disconnecte,d  lines  in  a  high,  reciting  tone. 

"Why,  sir,"  cried  Nick,  bewildered,  " it  is  a  part ! " 


"WELL  SUNG,  MASTER  SKYLARK!"  45 

ft  To  be  sure,"  said  Carew,  laughing,  "  it  is  a  part— and 
a  part  of  a  very  good  whole,  too— a  comedy  by  young 
Tom  Heywood,  that  would  make  a  graven  image  split  its 
sides  with  laughing;  and  do  thou  just  learn  that  part, 
good  Master  Skylark,  and  thou  shalt  say  it  in  to-morrow's 
play." 

"  What,  Master  Carew !  "  gasped  Nick.  "  I— truly  ? 
With  the  Lord  Admiral's  players  ? " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure !  "  cried  the  master-player,  in  great 
glee,  clapping  him  upon  the  back.  "  Didst  think  I  meant 
a  parcel  of  dirty  tinkers?  Nay,  lad;  thou  art  just  the 
very  fellow  for  the  part— my  lady's  page  should  be  a 
pretty  lad,  and,  soul  o'  me,  thou  art  that  same !  And, 
Nick,  thou  shalt  sing  Tom  Heywood's  newest  song.  It  is 
a  pretty  song ;  it  is  a  lark-song  like  thine  own." 

Nick  could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  To  act  with  the 
Lord  Admiral's  company !  To  sing  with  them  before  ail 
Coventry !  It  passed  the  wildest  dream  that  he  had  ever 
dreamed.  What  would  the  boys  in  Stratford  say  ?  'Aha ! 
they  would  laugh  on  the  other  side  of  their  mouths  now ! 

"  But  will  they  have  me,  sir  ? "  he  asked  doubtfully. 

"Have  thee?"  said  Master  Carew,  haughtily.  "If  I 
say  go,  thou  shalt  go.  I  am  master  here.  And  I  tell  thee, 
Nick,  that  thou  shalt  see  the  play,  and  be  the  play,  in  part, 
and— well,  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see." 

With  that  he  fell  to  humming  and  chuckling  to  himself, 
as  if  he  had  swallowed  a  water-mill,  while  Nick  turned 
ecstatic  cart-wheels  along  the  grass  beside  the  road,  until 
presently  Coventry  came  in  sight 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  ADMIRAL'S  COMPANY 

ancient  city  of  Coventry  stands  upon  a  little  hill, 
JL  with  old  St.  Michael's  steeple  and  the  spire  of  Holy 
Trinity  church  rising  above  it  against  the  sky ;  and  as  the 
master-player  and  the  boy  came  climbing  upward  from 
the  south,  walls,  towers,  chimneys,  and  red-tiled  roofs 
were  turned  to  gold  by  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun. 

To  Nick  it  seemed  as  if  a  halo  overhung  the  town— a 
ruddy  glory  and  a  wonder  bright ;  for  here  the  Grey  Friars 
of  the  great  monastery  had  played  their  holy  mysteries 
and  miracle-plays  for  over  a  hundred  years;  here  the 
trade-guilds  had  held  their  pageants  when  the  friars'  day 
was  done ;  here  were  all  the  wonders  that  old  men  told  by 
winter  fires. 

People  were  coming  and  going  through  the  gates  like 
bees  about  a  hive,  and  in  the  distance  Nick  could  hear 
the  sound  of  many  voices,  the  rush  of  feet,  wheels,  and 
hoofs,  and  the  shrill  pipe  of  music.  Here  and  there  were 
little  knots  of  country  folk  making  holiday :  a  father  and 
mother  with  a  group  of  rosy  children ;  a  lad  and  his  lass, 

46 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  COMPANY  47 

spruce  in  new  finery,  and  gay  with  bits  of  ribbon— merry 
groups  that  were  ever  changing.  Gay  banners  flapped 
on  tall  ash  staves.  The  suburb  fields  were  filled  with 
booths  and  tents  and  stalls  and  butts  for  archery.  The 
very  air  seemed  eager  with  the  eve  of  holiday. 

But  what  to  Nick  was  breathless  wonder  was  to  Carew 
only  a  twice-told  tale ;  so  he  pushed  through  the  crowded 
thoroughfares,  amid  a  throng  that  made  Nick's  head  spin 
round,  and  came  quickly  to  the  Blue  Boar  Inn. 

The  court  was  crowded  to  the  gates  with  horses,  trav- 
elers, and  serving-men ;  and  here  and  there  and  everywhere 
rushed  the  busy  innkeeper,  with  a  linen  napkin  fluttering 
on  his  arm,  his  cap  half  off,  and  in  his  hot  hand  a  pewter 
flagon,  from  which  the  brown  ale  dripped  in  spatters  on 
his  fat  legs  as  he  flew. 

"They  're  here,"  said  Carew,  looking  shrewdly  about; 
"for  there  is  Gregory  Goole,  my  groom,  and  Stephen 
Magelt,  the  tire-man.  In  with  thee,  Nicholas." 

He  put  Nick  before  him  with  a  little  air  of  patronage, 
and  pushed  him  into  the  room. 

It  was  a  large,  low  chamber  with  heavy  beams  overhead, 
hung  with  leather  jacks  and  pewter  tankards.  Around 
the  walls  stood  rough  tables,  at  which  a  medley  of  guests 
sat  eating,  drinking,  dicing,  playing  at  cards,  and  talking 
loudly  all  at  once,  while  the  tapster  and  the  cook's  knave 
sped  wildly  about. 

At  a  great  table  in  the  midst  of  the  riot  sat  the  Lord 
High  Admiral's  players— a  score  or  more  loud-swashing 
gallants,  richly  clad  in  ruffs  and  bands,  embroidered 


48  MASTER  SKYLARK 

shirts,  Italian  doublets  slashed  and  laced,  Venetian  hose, 
gay  velvet  caps  with  jeweled  bands,  and  every  man  a  pon- 
iard or  a  rapier  at  his  hip.  Nick  felt  very  much  like  a  little 
brown  sparrow  in  a  flock  of  gaudy  Indian  birds. 

The  board  was  loaded  down  with  meat  and  drink,  and 
some  of  the  players  were  eating  with  forks,  a  new  trick 
from  the  London  court,  which  Nick  had  never  seen 
before.  But  all  the  diners  looked  up  when  Carew's  face 
was  recognized,  and  welcomed  him  with  a  deafening 
shout. 

He  waved  his  hand  for  silence. 

"Thanks  for  these  kind  plaudits,  gentle  friends,"  said 
he,  with  a  mocking  air ;  "  I  have  returned." 

"  Yes ;  we  see  that  ye  have,  Gaston,"  they  all  shouted, 
and  laughed  again. 

"Ay,"  said  he,  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  pouch,  "ye 
fled,  and  left  me  to  be  spoiled  by  the  spoiler,  but  ye  see  I 
have  left  the  spoiler  spoiled." 

Lifting  his  hand  triumphantly,  he  shook  in  their  faces 
the  golden  chain  that  the  burgesses  of  Stratford  had  given 
him,  and  then,  laying  his  hand  upon  Nick's  shoulder, 
bowed  to  them  all,  and  to  him  with  courtly  grace,  and  said : 
"  Be  known,  be  known,  all !  Gentlemen,  my  Lord  Admi- 
ral's Players,  Master  Nicholas  Skylark,  the  sweetest  singer 
in  all  the  kingdom  of  England !  " 

Nick's  cheeks  flushed  hotly,  and  his  eyes  fell ;  for  they 
all  stared  curiously,  first  at  him,  and  then  at  Carew  stand- 
ing up  behind  him,  and  several  grinned  mockingly  and 
winked  in  a  knowing  way.  He  stole  a  look  at  Carew ;  but 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  COMPANY  49 

the  master-player's  face  was  frank  and  quite  unmoved,  so 
that  Nick  felt  reassured. 

"  Why,  sirs,"  said  Carew,  as  some  began  to  laugh  and  to 
speak  to  one  another  covertly,  "  it  is  no  jest.  He  hath  a 
sweeter  voice  than  Cyril  Davy's,  the  best  woman's- voice  in 
all  London  town.  Upon  my  word,  it  is  the  sweetest  voice 
a  body  ever  heard— outside  of  heaven  and  the  holy 
angels ! "  He  lowered  his  tone  and  bowed  his  head  a 
little.  "  I  '11  stake  mine  honour  on  it !  " 

"  Hast  any,  Gaston  ? "  called  a  jeering  voice,  whereat  the 
whole  room  roared. 

But  Carew  cried  again  in  a  high  voice  that  would  be 
heard  above  the  noise :  "  Now,  hark  'e ;  what  I  say  is  so. 
It  is,  upon  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of  mine  honour ! 
And  to-morrow  ye  shall  see,  for  Master  Skylark  is  to  sing 
and  play  with  us." 

When  he  had  said  that,  nothing  would  do  but  Nick  mnst 
sit  down  and  eat  with  them ;  so  they  made  a  place  for  him 
and  for  Master  Carew. 

Nick  bent  his  head  and  said  a  grace,  at  which  some  of 
them  laughed,  until  Carew  shook  his  head  with  a  stern 
frown ;  and  before  he  ate  he  bowed  politely  to  them  all,  as 
his  mother  had  taught  him  to  do.  They  all  bowed  mock- 
ingly, and  hilariously  offered  him  wine,  which,  when  he 
refused,  they  pressed  upon  him,  until  Carew  stopped  them, 
saying  that  he  would  have  no  more  of  that.  As  he  spoke 
he  clapped  his  hand  upon  his  poniard  and  scowled  biackly. 
XHey  all  laughed,  but  offered  Nick  no  more  wine ;  instead, 
they  picked  him  choice  morsels,  and  made  a  great  deal  of 


50  MASTEK  SKYLAEK 

him,  until  his  silly  young  head  was  quite  turned,  and  he 
sat  up  and  gave  himself  a  few  airs — not  many,  for  Strat- 
ford was  no  great  place  in  which  to  pick  up  airs. 

When  they  had  eaten  they  wanted  Nick  to  sing ;  but 
again  Carew  interposed.  "  Nay,"  said  he ;  "  he  hath  just 
eaten  his  fill,  so  he  cannot  sing.  Moreover,  he  is  no  jack- 
daw to  screech  in  such  a  cage  as  this.  He  shall  not  sing 
until  to-morrow  in  the  play." 

At  this  some  of  the  leading  players  who  held  shares  in 
the  venture  demurred,  doubting  if  Nick  could  sing  at 
all ;  but—"  Hark  'e,"  said  Master  Carew,  shortly,  clapping 
his  hand  upon  his  poniard,  "  I  say  that  he  can.  Do  ye 
take  me?" 

So  they  said  no  more ;  and  shortly  after  he  took  Nick 
away,  and  left  them  over  their  tankards,  singing  uproar- 
iously. 

The  Blue  Boar  Inn  had  not  a  bed  to  spare,  nor  had  the 
players  kept  a  place  for  Carew;  at  which  he  smiled 
grimly,  said  he  'd  not  forget  it,  and  took  lodgings  for 
himself  and  Nick  at  the  Three  Tuns  in  the  next  street. 

Nick  spoke  indeed  of  his  mother's  cousin,  with  whom 
he  had  meant  to  stay,  but  the  master-player  protested 
warmly ;  so,  little  loath,  and  much  flattered  by  the  atten- 
tions of  so  great  a  man,  Nick  gave  over  the  idea  and  said 
no  more  about  it. 

When  the  chamberlain  had  shown  them  to  their  room 
and  they  were  both  undressed,  Nick  knelt  beside  the  bed 
and  said  a  prayer,  as  he  always  did  at  home.  Carew 
watched  him  curiously.  It  was  quiet  there,  and  the  light 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  COMPANY  51 

dim  ;  Nick  was  young,  and  his  yellow  hair  was  very  curly. 
Carew  could  hear  the  faint  breath  murmuring  through 
the  boy's  lips  as  he  prayed,  and  while  he  stared  at  the  little 
white  figure  his  mouth  twitched  in  a  queer  way.  But  he 
tossed  his  head,  and  muttered  to  himself,  "  What,  Gaston 
Carew,  turning  soft  ?  Nay,  nay.  I  '11  do  it— on  my  soul, 
I  will ! "  rolled  into  bed,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

As  for  Nick,  what  with  the  excitement  of  the  day,  the 
dazzling  fancies  in  his  brain,  his  tired  legs,  the  weird  night 
noises  in  the  town,  and  strange,  tremendous  dreams,  he 
scarce  could  get  to  sleep  at  all ;  but  toward  morning  he 
fell  into  a  refreshing  doze,  and  did  not  wake  until  the  town 
was  loud  with  May. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  MAY-DAY  PLAY 

IT  was  soon  afternoon.  All  Coventry  was  thronged 
with  people  keeping  holiday,  and  at  the  Blue  Boar  a 
scene  of  wild  confusion  reigned. 

Tap-room  and  hall  were  crowded  with  guests,  and  in 
the  cobbled  court  horses  innumerable  stamped  and  whin- 
nied. The  players,  with  knitted  brows,  stalked  about  the 
quieter  nooks,  going  over  their  several  parts,  and  looking 
to  their  costumes,  which  were  for  the  most  part  upon  their 
backs ;  while  the  thumping  and  pounding  of  the  carpen- 
ters at  work  upon  the  stage  in  the  inn-yard  were  enough 
to  drive  a  quiet-loving  person  wild. 

Nick  scarcely  knew  whether  he  were  on  his  head  or  on 
his  heels.  The  master-player  would  not  let  him  eat  at  all 
after  once  breaking  his  fast,  for  fear  it  might  affect  his 
voice,  and  had  him  say  his  lines  a  hundred  times  until  he 
had  them  pat.  Then  he  was  off,  directing  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  until  the  court  was  cleared  of  all  that  had  no 
business  there,  and  the  last  surreptitious  small  boy  had 

52 


THE  MAY-DAY  PLAY  53 

been  duly  projected  from  the  gates  by  Peter  Hostler's 
hobnailed  boot. 

"Now,  Nick,"  said  Carew,  coming  up  all  in  a  gale,  and 
throwing  a  sky-blue  silken  cloak  about  Nick's  shoulders, 
"  thou  'It  enter  here " ;  and  he  led  him  to  a  hallway  door 
just  opposite  the  gates.  "  When  Master  Whitelaw,  as  the 
Duke,  calls  out,  '  How  now,  who  comes  ?— I  '11  match  him 
for  the  ale ! '  be  quickly  in  and  answer  to  thy  part ;  and, 
marry,  boy,  don't  miss  thy  cues,  or— tsst,  thy  head  's  not 
worth  a  peascod !  "  With  that  he  clapped  his  hand  upon 
his  poniard  and  glared  into  Nick's  eyes,  as  if  to  look  clear 
through  to  the  back  of  the  boy's  wits.  Nick  heard  his 
white  teeth  grind,  and  was  all  at  once  very  much  afraid  of 
him,  for  he  did  indeed  look  dreadful. 

So  Nicholas  Attwood  stood  by  the  entry  door,  with  his 
heart  in  his  throat,  waiting  his  turn. 

He  could  hear  the  pages  in  the  courtyard  outside  shout- 
ing for  stools  for  their  masters,  and  squabbling  over  the 
best  places  upon  the  stage.  Then  the  gates  creaked,  and 
there  came  a  wild  rush  of  feet  and  a  great  crying  out 
as  the  'prentices  and  burghers  trooped  into  the  inn-yard, 
pushing  and  crowding  for  places  near  the  stage.  Those 
who  had  the  money  bawled  aloud  for  farthing  stools.  The 
rest  stood  jostling  in  a  wrangling  crowd  upon  the  ground, 
while  up  and  down  a  girl's  shrill  voice  went  all  the  time, 
crying  high,  "  Cherry  ripe,  cherry  ripe !  Who  '11  buy  my 
sweet  May  cherries  f " 

Then  there  was  another  shout,  and  a  rattling  tread  of 
feet  along  the  wooden  balconies  that  ran  around  the  walls 


54  MASTER  SKYLARK 

of  the  inn-yard,  and  cries  from  the  apprentices  below: 
"  Good-day,  fair  Master  Harrington !  Good-day,  Sir  Thomas 
Parkes !  Good-day,  sweet  Mistress  Nettleby  and  Master 
Nettleby !  Good-day,  good-day,  good-day ! "  for  the  richer 
folk  were  coming  in  at  twopence  each,  and  all  the  gal- 
leries were  full.  And  then  he  heard  the  baker's  boy  with 
sugared  cakes  and  ginger-nuts  go  stamping  up  the  stairs. 

The  musicians  in  the  balcony  overhead  were  tuning  up. 
There  was  a  flute,  a  viol,  a  gittern,  a  fiddle,  and  a  drum ; 
and  behind  the  curtain,  just  outside  the  door,  Nick  could 
hear  the  master-player's  low  voice  giving  hasty  orders  to 
the  others. 

So  he  said  his  lines  all  over  to  himself,  and  cleared  his 
throat.  Then  on  a  sudden  a  shutter  opened  high  above 
the  orchestra,  a  trumpet  blared,  the  kettledrum  crashed, 
and  he  heard  a  loud  voice  shout : 

"  Good  citizens  of  Coventry,  and  high-born  gentles  all : 
know  ye  now  that  we,  the  players  of  the  company  of  His 
Grace,  Charles,  Lord  Howard,  High  Admiral  of  England, 
Ireland,  Wales,  Calais,  and  Boulogne,  the  marches  of  Nor. 
mandy,  Gascony,  and  Aquitaine,  Captain-General  of  the 
Navy  and  the  Seas  of  Her  Gracious  Majesty  the  Queen—" 

At  that  the  crowd  in  the  courtyard  cheered  and  cheered 
again. 

"  —will,  with  your  kind  permission,  play  forthwith  the 
laughable  comedy  of  '  The  Three  Grey  Gowns,'  by  Master 
Thomas  Heywood,  in  which  will  be  spoken  many  good 
things,  old  and  new,  and  a  brand-new  song  will  be  sung. 
Now,  hearken  all— the  play  begins ! n 


THE  MAY-DAY  PLAY  55 

The  trumpet  blared,  the  kettledrum  crashed  again,  and 
as  a  sudden  hush  fell  over  the  throng  without  Nick  heard 
the  voices  of  the  players  going  on. 

It  was  a  broad  farce,  full  of  loud  jests  and  nonsense,  a 
great  thwacking  of  sticks  and  tumbling  about ;  and  Nick, 
with  his  eye  to  the  crack  of  the  door,  listened  with  all  his 
ears  for  his  cue,  far  too  excited  even  to  think  of  laughing 
at  the  rough  jokes,  though  the  crowd  in  the  inn-yard 
roared  till  they  held  their  sides. 

Carew  came  hurrying  up,  with  an  anxious  look  in  his 
restless  eyes. 

"  Ready,  Nicholas ! "  said  he,  sharply,  taking  Nick  by  the 
arm  and  lifting  the  latch.  "  Go  straight  down  front  now 
as  I  told  thee— mind  thy  cues— speak  boldly— sing  as  thou 
didst  sing  for  me— and  if  thou  wouldst  not  break  mine 
heart,  do  not  fail  me  now !  I  have  staked  it  all  upon  thee 
here— and  we  must  win ! " 

"  How  now,  who  comes  ? "  Nick  heard  a  loud  voice  call 
outside— the  door-latch  clicked  behind  him— he  was  out  in 
the  open  air  and  down  the  stage  before  he  quite  knew 
where  he  was. 

The  stage  was  built  against  the  wall  just  opposite  the 
gates.  It  was  but  a  temporary  platform  of  planks  laid 
upon  trestles.  One  side  of  it  was  against  the  wall,  and 
around  the  three  other  sides  the  crowd  was  packed  close 
to  the  platform  rail. 

At  the  ends,  upon  the  boards,  several  wealthy  gallants 
sat  on  high,  three-legged  stools,  within  arm's  reach  of  the 
players  acting  there.  The  courtyard  was  a  sea  of  heads, 


56  MASTER  SKYLARK 

and  the  balconies  were  filled  with  gentlefolk  in  holiday 
attire,  eating  cakes  and  chaffing  gaily  at  the  play.  All 
was  one  bewildered  cloud  of  staring  eyes  to  Nick,  and  the 
only  thing  which  he  was  sure  he  saw  was  the  painted  sign 
that  hung  upon  the  curtain  at  the  rear,  which  in  the  lack 
of  other  scenery  announced  in  large  red  print :  "  This  is  a 
Room  in  Master  Jonah  Jackdawe's  House." 

And  then  he  heard  the  last  quick  words,  "  I  '11  match 
him  for  the  ale !  "  and  started  on  his  lines. 

It  was  not  that  he  said  so  ill  what  little  he  had  to  say, 
but  that  his  voice  was  homelike  and  familiar  in  its  sound, 
one  of  their  own,  with  no  amazing  London  accent  to  the 
words— just  the  speech  of  every-day,  the  sort  that  they  all 
knew. 

First,  some  one  in  the  yard  laughed  out— a  shock-headed 
ironmonger's  apprentice,  "  Whoy,  bullies,  there  be  hayseed 
in  his  hair.  'T  is  took  off  pasture  over-soon.  I  fecks ! 
they  Ve  plucked  him  green  !  " 

There  was  a  hoarse,  exasperating  laugh.  Nick  hesitated 
in  his  lines.  The  player  at  his  back  tried  to  prompt  him , 
but  only  made  the  matter  worse,  and  behind  the  green  cur- 
tain at  the  door  a  hand  went  "  clap  "  upon  a  dagger-hilt. 
The  play  lagged,  and  the  crowd  began  to  jeer.  Nick's 
heart  was  full  of  fear  and  of  angry  shame  that  he  had 
dared  to  try.  Then  all  at  once  there  came  a  brief  pause, 
in  which  he  vaguely  realized  that  no  one  spoke.  The  man 
behind  him  thrust  him  forward,  and  whispering  wrathfully, 
"Quick,  quick— sing  up,  thou  little  fool!"  stepped  back 
and  left  him  there  alone. 


•NICK  THOUGHT  OF  HIS  MOTHER'S  SINGING  ON  A  SUMMEB'8  EVENING— DKEW 
A  DEEP  BEEATH  AND  BEGAN  TO  SING." 


THE  MAY-DAY  PLAY  57 

A  viol  overhead  took  up  the  time,  the  gittern  struck  a 
few  sharp  notes.  This  unexpected  music  stopped  the 
noise,  and  all  was  still.  Nick  thought  of  his  mother's 
voice  singing  on  a  summer's  evening  among  the  hollyhocks, 
and  as  the  viol's  droning  died  away  he  drew  a  deep  breath 
and  began  to  sing  the  words  of  "  Hey  wood's  newest  song  " : 

"  Pack,  clouds,  away,  and  welcome,  day ; 

With  night  we  banish  sorrow ; 
Sweet  air,  blow  soft ;  mount,  lark,  aloft, 
To  give  my  love  good-morrow ! " 

It  was  only  a  part  of  a  madrigal,  the  air  to  which  they 
had  fitted  the  words,— the  same  air  that  Nick  had  sung  in 
the  woods,— a  thing  scarce  meant  ever  to  be  sung  alone,  a 
simple  strain,  a  few  plain  notes,  and  at  the  close  one  brief, 
queer,  warbling  trill  like  a  bird's  wild  song,  that  rose  and 
fell  and  rose  again  like  a  silver  ripple. 

The  instruments  were  still ;  the  fresh  young  voice  came 
out  alone,  and  it  was  done  so  soon  that  Nick  hardly  knew 
that  he  had  sung  at  all.  For  a  moment  no  one  seemed  to 
breathe.  Then  there  was  a  very  great  noise,  and  all  the 
court  seemed  hurling  at  him.  A  man  upon  the  stage 
sprang  to  his  feet.  What  they  were  going  to  do  to  him 
Nick  did  not  know.  He  gave  a  frightened  cry,  and  ran 
past  the  green  curtain,  through  the  open  door,  and  into 
the  master-player's  excited  arms. 

"Quick,  quick!"  cried  Carew.  "Go  back,  go  back! 
There,  hark!— dost  not  hear  them  call?  Quick,  out 
again— they  call  thee  back ! "  With  that  he  thrust  Nick 
through  the  door.  The  man  upon  the  stage  came  up, 


58  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

slipped  something  into  his  hand— Nick,  all  bewildered, 
knew  not  what ;  and  there  he  stood,  quite  stupefied,  not 
knowing  what  to  do.  Then  Carew  came  out  hastily  and 
led  him  down  the  stage,  bowing,  and  pressing  his  hand  to 
his  heart,  and  smiling  like  a  summer  sunrise ;  so  that  Nick, 
seeing  this,  did  the  same,  and  bowed  as  neatly  as  he  could ; 
though,  to  be  sure,  his  was  only  a  simple,  country-bred 
bow,  and  no  such  ceremonious  to-do  as  Master  Carew's 
courtly  London  obeisance. 

Every  one  was  standing  up  and  shouting  so  that  not  a 
soul  could  hear  his  ears,  until  the  ironmonger's  apprentice 
bellowed  above  the  rest ;  "  Whoy,  bullies !  "  he  shouted, 
amid  a  chorus  of  cheers  and  laughter,  "  did  n't  I  say 't  was 
catched  out  in  the  fields— it  be  a  skylark,  sure  enough ! 
Come,  Muster  Skylark,  sing  that  song  again,  an'  thou  shalt 
ha'  my  brand-new  cap  !  " 

Then  many  voices  cried  out  together,  "  Sing  it  again ! 
The  Skylark-the  Skylark ! " 

Nick,  looked  up,  startled.  "  Why,  Master  Carew,"  said 
he,  with  a  tremble  in  his  voice,  "  do  they  mean  me  ? " 

Carew  put  one  hand  beneath  Nick's  chin  and  turned  his 
face  up,  smiling.  The  master-player's  cheeks  were  flushed 
with  triumph,  and  his  dark  eyes  danced  with  pride.  "  Ay, 
Nicholas  Skylark ;  't  is  thou  they  mean." 

The  viol  and  the  music  came  again  from  overhead,  and 
when  they  ceased  Nick  sang  the  little  song  once  more. 
And  when  the  master-player  had  taken  him  outside,  and 
the  play  was  over,  some  fine  ladies  came  and  kissed  him, 
to  his  great  confusion ;  for  no  one  but  his  mother  or  his 


THE  MAY-DAY  PLAY  59 

kin  had  ever  done  so  before,  and  these  had  much  perf umb 
about  them,  musk  and  rose-attar,  so  that  they  smelled  like 
rose-mallows  in  July.  The  players  of  the  Lord  Admiral's 
company  were  going  about  shaking  hands  with  Carew  and 
with  each  other  as  if  they  had  not  met  for  years,  and  slap- 
ping one  another  upon  the  back ;  and  one  came  over,  a  tall, 
solemn,  black-haired  man,  he  who  had  written  the  song, 
and  stood  with  his  feet  apart  and  stared  at  Nick,  but  spoke 
never  a  word,  which  Nick  thought  was  very  singular. 
But  as  he  turned  away  he  said,  with  a  world  of  pity  in  his 
voice,  "  And  I  have  writ  two  hundred  plays,  yet  never  saw 
thy  like.  Lad,  lad,  thou  art  a  jewel  in  a  wild  swine's 
snout ! "  which  Nick  did  not  understand  at  all ;  nor  why 
Master  Carew  said  so  sharply,  "  Come,  Heywood,  hold  thy 
blabbing  tongue ;  we  are  all  in  the  same  sty." 

"  Speak  for  thyself,  Gat  Carew ! "  answered  Master  Hey- 
wood, firmly.  "  I  '11  have  no  hand  in  this  affair,  I  tell  thee 
once  for  all ! " 

Master  Carew  flushed  queerly  and  bit  his  lip,  and,  turn- 
ing hastily  away,  took  Nick  to  walk  about  the  town.  Nick 
then,  for  the  first  time,  looked  into  his  hand  to  see  what 
the  man  upon  the  stage  had  given  him.  It  was  a  gold 
rose-noble. 


CHAPTER  X 

AFTER  THE  PLAY/ 

THROUGH  the  high  streets  of  the  third  city  of  the 
realm  Master  Gaston  Carew  strode  as  if  he  were  a 
very  king,  and  Coventry  his  kingdom. 

There  was  music  everywhere,— of  pipers  and  fiddlers, 
drums,  tabrets,  flutes,  and  horns, — and  there  were  dan- 
cing bears  upon  the  corners,  with  minstrels,  jugglers, 
chapmen  crying  their  singsong  wares,  and  such  a  mighty 
hurly-burly  as  Nick  had  never  seen  before.  And  wherever 
there  was  a  wonder  to  be  seen,  Carew  had  Nick  see  it, 
though  it  cost  a  penny  a  peep,  and  lifted  him  to  watch  the 
fencing  and  quarter-staff  play  in  the  market-place.  And 
at  one  of  the  gay  booths  he  bought  gilt  ginger-nuts  and 
caraway  cakes  with  currants  on  the  top,  and  gave  them 
all  to  Nick,  who  thanked  him  kindly,  but  said,  if  Master 
Carew  pleased,  he  'd  rather  have  his  supper,  for  he  was 
very  hungry. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,"  said  Carew,  and  tossed  a  silver  penny 
for  a  scramble  to  the  crowd;  ''thou  shalt  have  the  finest 
supper  in  the  town." 

66 


AFTER  THE  PLAY  61 

Whereupon,  bowing  to  all  the  great  folk  they  met,  and 
being  bowed  to  most  politely  in  return,  they  came  to  the 
Three  Tuns. 

Stared  at  by  a  hundred  curious  eyes,  made  way  for 
everywhere,  and  followed  by  wondering  exclamations  of 
envy,  it  was  little  wonder  that  Nick,  a  simple  country  lad, 
at  last  began  to  think  that  there  was  not  in  all  the  world 
another  gentleman  so  grand  as  Master  Gaston  Carew,  and 
also  to  have  a  pleasant  notion  that  Nicholas  Attwood  was 
no  bad  fellow  himself. 

The  lordly  innkeeper  came  smirking  and  bobbing 
obsequiously  about,  with  his  freshest  towel  on  his  arm, 
and  took  the  master-player's  order  as  a  dog  would  take  a 
bone. 

"  Here,  sirrah,"  said  Carew,  haughtily ;  "  fetch  us  some 
repast,  I  care  not  what,  so  it  be  wholesome  food— a  green 
Banbury  cheese,  some  simnel  bread  and  oat-cakes;  a 
pudding,  hark  'e,  sweet  and  full  of  plums,  with  honey  and 
a  pasty— a  meat  pasty,  marry,  a  pasty  made  of  fat  and 
toothsome  eels ;  and  moreover,  fellow,  ale  to  wash  it  down 
—none  of  thy  penny  ale,  mind  ye,  too  weak  to  run  out  of 
the  spigot,  but  snapping  good  brew— dost  take  me  ?— with 
beef  and  mustard,  tripe,  herring,  and  a  good  fat  capon 
broiled  to  a  turn ! " 

The  innkeeper  gaped  like  a  fish. 

"How  now,  sirrah?  Dost  think  I  cannot  pay  thy 
score  ? "  quoth  Carew,  sharply. 

"Nay,  nay,"  stammered  the  host;  "but,  sir,  where— 
where  will  ye  put  it  all  without  bursting  into  bits  ? n 


62  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Be  off  with  thee ! "  cried  Carew,  sharply.  "  That  is 
my  affair.  Nay,  Nick,"  said  he,  laughing  at  the  boy's, 
astonished  look ;  "  we  shall  not  burst.  What  we  do  not 
have  to-night  we  '11  have  in  the  morning.  'T  is  the  way 
with  these  inns,— to  feed  the  early  birds  with  scraps,— so 
the  more  we  leave  from  supper  the  more  we  '11  have  for 
breakfast.  And  thou  wilt  need  a  good  breakfast  to  ride 
on  all  day  long." 

"  Ride  ? "  exclaimed  Nick.  "  Why,  sir,  I  was  minded  to 
walk  back  to  Stratford,  and  keep  my  gold  rose-noble 
whole." 

"  Walk  ? "  cried  the  master-player,  scornfully.  "  Thou, 
with  thy  golden  throat?  Nay,  Nicholas,  thou  shalt  ride 
to-morrow  like  a  very  king,  if  I  have  to  pay  for  the  horse 
myself,  twelvepence  the  day ! "  and  with  that  he  began 
chuckling  as  if  it  were  a  joke. 

But  Nick  stood  up,  and,  bowing,  thanked  him  gratefully ; 
at  which  the  master-player  went  from  chuckling  to  laugh- 
ing, and  leered  at  Nick  so  oddly  that  the  boy  would  have 
thought  him  tipsy,  save  that  there  had  been  nothing  yet 
to  drink.  And  a  queer  sense  of  uneasiness  came  creeping 
over  him  as  he  watched  the  master-player's  eyes  opening 
and  shutting,  opening  and  shutting,  so  that  one  moment 
he  seemed  to  be  staring  and  the  next  almost  asleep ;  though 
all  the  while  his  keen,  dark  eyes  peered  out  from  between 
the  lids  like  old  dog-foxes  from  their  holes,  looking  Nick 
over  from  head  to  foot,  and  from  foot  to  head  again,  as  if 
measuring  him  with  an  ellwand. 

When  the  supper  came,  filling  the  whole  table  and  the 


AFTER  THE  PLAY  63 

sideboard  too,  Nick  arose  to  serve  the  meat  as  he  was  used 
at  home ;  but,  "  Nay,  Nicholas  Skylark,  my  honey-throat," 
cried  Carew,  "  sit  thee  down !  Thou  wait  on  me— thou 
songster  of  the  silver  tongue  ?  Nay,  nay,  sweetheart ;  the 
knave  shall  wait  on  thee,  or  I  '11  wait  on  thee  myself— I 
will,  upon  my  word !  Why,  Nick,  I  tell  thee  I  loye  thee, 
and  dost  think  I  'd  let  thee  wait  or  walk  ?— nay,  nay,  thou  'It 
ride  to-morrow  like  a  king,  and  have  all  Stratford  wait  for 
thee ! "  At  this  he  chuckled  so  that  he  almost  choked  upon 
a  mouthful  of  bread  and  meat. 

"  Canst  ride,  Nicholas  ? n 

"Fairly,  sir." 

"  Fairly  ?  Fie,  modesty !  I  warrant  thou  canst  ride  like 
a  very  centaur.  What  sayest— I  '11  ride  a  ten-mile  race 
with  thee  to-morrow  as  we  go  ? n 

"  Why,"  cried  Nick,  "  are  ye  going  back  to  Stratford  to 
play,  after  all  ? " 

"  To  Stratford  ?  Nay ;  not  for  a  bushel  of  good  gold 
Harry  shovel-boards !  Bah !  That  town  is  ratsbane  and 
nightshade  in  my  mouth !  Nay,  we  '11  not  go  back  to 
Stratford  town;  but  we  shall  ride  a  piece  with  thee, 
Nicholas,— we  shall  ride  a  piece  with  thee." 

Chuckling  again  to  himself,  he  fell  to  upon  the  pasty 
and  said  no  more. 

Nick  held  his  peace,  as  he  was  taught  to  do  unless  first 
spoken  to;  but  he  could  not  help  thinking  that  stage- 
players,  and  master-players  in  particular,  were  very 
queer  folk. 


CHAPTER  XI 

DISOWNED 

NIGHT  came  down  on  Stratford  town  that  last  sweet 
April  day,  and  the  pastured  kine  came  lowing  home. 
Supper-time  passed,  and  the  cool  stars  came  twinkling 
out;  but  still  Nick  Attwood  did  not  come. 

"  He  hath  stayed  to  sleep  with  Robin,  Master  Burgess 
Getley's  son,"  said  Mistress  Attwood,  standing  in  the  door, 
and  staring  out  into  the  dusk ;  "  he  is  often  lonely  here." 

"  He  should  ha'  telled  thee  on  it,  then,"  said  Simon  Att- 
wood. "  This  be  no  way  to  do.  I  Ve  a  mind  to  put  him 
to  a  trade." 

"  Nay,  Simon,"  protested  his  wife ;  "  he  may  be  careless, 
—he  is  young  yet,— but  Nicholas  is  a  good  lad.  Let  him 
have  his  schooling  out— he  '11  be  the  better  for  it." 

"  Then  let  him  show  it  as  he  goes  along,"  said  Attwood, 
grimly,  as  he  blew  the  candle  out. 

But  May-day  dawned;  mid-morning  came,  mid-after- 
noon, then  supper-time  again ;  and  supper-time  crept  into 
dusk— and  still  no  Nicholas  Attwood. 

His  mother  grew  uneasy ;  but  his  father  only  growled  : 

64 


DISOWNED  65 

"  We  '11  reckon  up  when  lie  coineth  home.  Master  Bruns- 
wood  tells  me  he  was  na  at  the  school  the  whole  day  yes- 
terday—and he  be  feared  to  show  his  face.  I  '11  fear  him 
with  a  bit  of  birch ! " 

"  Do  na  be  too  hard  with  the  lad,  Simon,"  pleaded  Mis- 
tress Attwood.  "  Who  knows  what  hath  happened  to  him  1 
He  must  be  hurt,  or  he  'd  'a'  come  home  to  his  mother  " — 
and  she  began  to  wring  her  hands.  "  He  may  ha'  fallen 
from  a  tree,  and  lieth  all  alone  out  on  the  hill— or,  Simon, 
the  Avon !  Thou  dost  na  think  our  lad  be  drowned  ?  " 

"  Fudge !  "  said  Simon  Attwood.  "  Born  to  hang  '11 
never  drown ! " 

When,  however,  the  next  day  crept  around  and  still  his 
son  did  not  come  home,  a  doubt  stole  into  the  tanner's 
own  heart.  Yet  when  his  wife  was  for  starting  out  to 
seek  some  tidings  of  the  boy,  he  stopped  her  wrathfully. 

"  Nay,  Margaret,"  said  he ;  "  thou  shalt  na  go  traipsing 
around  the  town  like  a  hen  wi'  but  one  chick.  I  wull  na  ha' 
thee  made  a  laughing-stock  by  all  the  fools  in  Stratford." 

But  as  the  third  day  rolled  around,  about  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon  the  tanner  himself  sneaked  out  at  the  back 
door  of  his  tannery  in  Southam's  lane,  and  went  up  into 
the  town. 

"  Robin  Getley,"  he  asked  at  the  guildschool  door,  "  was 
my  son  wi'  thee  overnight  ? " 

"  Nay,  Master  Attwood.     Has  he  not  come  back  ? " 

"  Come  back  ?    From  where  ? " 

Robin  hung  his  head. 

"  From  where  ? "  demanded  the  tanner.     "  Come,  boy ! n 


66  MASTEE   SKYLARK 

"  From  Coventry,"  said  Robin,  knowing  that  the  truth 
would  out  at  last,  anyway. 

"  He  went  to  see  the  players,  sir,"  spoke  up  Hal  Saddler, 
briskly,  not  heeding  Robin's  stealthy  kick.  "  He  said 
he  'd  bide  wi'  Diecon  Haggard  overnight ;  an'  he  said  he 
wished  he  were  a  master-player  himself,  sir,  too." 

Simon  Attwood,  frowning  blackly,  hurried  on.  It  ivas 
Nick,  then,  whom  he  had  seen  crossing  the  market-square. 

Wat  Raven,  who  swept  Clopton  bridge,  had  seen  two 
boys  go  up  the  Warwick  road.  "  One  were  thy  Nick,  Mus- 
ter Attwood,"  said  he,  thumping  the  dirt  from  his  broom 
across  the  coping-stone,  "and  the  other  were  Dawson's 
Hodge." 

The  angry  tanner  turned  again  into  the  market-place. 
His  brows  were  knit,  and  his  eyes  were  hot,  yet  his  step 
was  heavy  and  slow.  Above  all  things,  he  hated  disobe- 
dience, yet  in  his  surly  way  he  loved  his  only  son ;  and 
far  worse  than  disobedience,  he  hated  that  his  son  should 
disobey. 

Astride  a  beam  in  front  of  Master  Thompson's  house 
sat  Roger  Dawson.  Simon  Attwood  took  him  by  the  col- 
lar none  too  gently. 

"  Here,  leave  be !  "  choked  Roger,  wriggling  hard ;  but 
the  tanner's  grip  was  like  iron.  "  Wert  thou  in  Coventry 
May-day  ? "  he  asked  sternly. 

"  Nay,  that  I  was  na,"  sputtered  Hodge.  "  A  plague  on 
Coventry ! " 

"  Do  na  lie  to  me— thou  wert  there  wi'  my  son  Nicholas." 

"I  was  na,"  snarled  Hodge.     "Nick  Attwood  threshed 


DISOWNED  67 

me  in  the  Warrick  road;  an'  I  be  no  dawg  to  follow  at 
the  heels  o'  folks  as  threshes  me." 

"  Where  be  he,  then?"  demanded  Attwood,  with  a  sud- 
den sinking  at  heart  in  spite  of  his  wrath. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  A  went  away  wi'  a  play-actor- 
ing  fellow  in  a  plum-colored  cloak ;  and  play-actoring  fel- 
low said  a  loved  him  like  a's  own,  and  patted  a's  back, 
and  flung  me  hard  names,  like  stones  at  a  lost  dawg.  Now 
le*  me  go,  Muster  Attwood — cross  my  heart,  't  is  all  I 
know ! " 

"  Is  't  Nicholas  ye  seek,  Master  Attwood  ? "  asked  Tom 
Carpenter,  turning  from  his  fleurs-de-lis.  "  Why,  sir,  he  'a 
gone  got  famous,  sir.  I  was  in  Coventry  myseP  May-day ; 
and— why,  sir,  Nick  was  all  the  talk !  He  sang  there  at 
the  Blue  Boar  inn-yard  with  the  Lord  High  Admiral's 
players,  and  took  a  part  in  the  play ;  and,  sir,  ye  'd  scarce 
believe  me,  but  the  people  went  just  daft  to  hear  him  sing, 
sir." 

Simon  Attwood  heard  no  more.  He  walked  down  High 
street  in  a  daze.  With  hard  men  bitter  blows  strike 
doubly  deep.  He  stopped  before  the  guildhall  school. 
The  clock  struck  five ;  each  iron  clang  seemed  beating  upon 
his  heart.  He  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  shut  the  clangor 
out,  and  then  his  face  grew  stern  and  hard.  "  He  hath 
gone  his  own  wilful  way,"  said  he,  bitterly.  "  Let  him 
follow  it  to  the  end." 

Mistress  Attwood  came  to  meet  him,  running  in  the 
garden-path.  "  Nicholas  1 "  was  all  that  she  could  say. 

"  Never  speak  to  me  of  hi™  again,"  he  said,  and  passed 


68  MASTER  SKYLARK 

her  by  into  the  house.  "  He  hath  gone  away  with  a  pack 
of  stage-playing  rascals  and  vagabonds,  whither  no  man 
knoweth." 

Taking  the  heavy  Bible  down  from  the  shelf,  he  lit  a 
rushlight  at  the  fire,  although  it  was  still  broad  daylight, 
and  sat  there  with  the  great  book  open  in  his  lap  until 
the  sun  went  down  and  the  chill  night  wind  crept  in  along 
the  floor ;  yet  he  could  not  read  a  single  word  and  never 
turned  a  page. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  STRANGE   RIDE 

RAT-A-TAT-TAT  at  the  first  dim  hint  of  dawn  went 
the  chamberlain's  knuckles  upon  the  door.  To  Nick 
it  seemed  scarce  midnight  yet,  so  sound  had  been  his  sleep. 

Master  Carew  having  gotten  into  his  high-topped  rid- 
ing-boots with  a  great  puffing  and  tugging,  they  washed 
their  faces  at  the  inn-yard  pump  by  the  smoky  light  of 
the  hostler's  lantern,  and  then  in  a  subdued,  half -wakened 
way  made  a  hearty  breakfast  off  the  fragments  of  the  last 
night's  feast.  Part  of  the  remaining  cold  meat,  cheese, 
and  cakes  Carew  stowed  in  his  leather  pouch.  The  rest 
he  left  in  the  lap  of  a  beggar  sleeping  beside  the  door. 

The  street  was  dim  with  a  chilly  fog,  through  which  a 
few  pale  stars  still  struggled  overhead.  The  houses  were 
all  shut  and  barred ;  nobody  was  abroad,  and  the  night- 
watch  slept  in  comfortable  doorways  here  and  there,  with 
lolling  heads  and  lanterns  long  gone  out.  As  they  came 
along  the  crooked  street,  a  stray  cat  scurried  away  with 
scared  green  eyes,  and  a  kenneled  hound  set  up  a  lonesome 
howl. 


70  MASTER  SKYLARK 

But  the  Blue  Boar  Inn  was  stirring  like  an  ant-hill,  with 
firefly  lanterns  flitting  up  and  down,  and  a  cheery  glow 
about  the  open  door.  The  horses  of  the  company,  scrubbed 
unreasonably  clean,  snorted  and  stamped  in  little 
bridled  clumps  about  the  courtyard,  and  the  stable-boys, 
not  scrubbed  at  all,  clanked  at  the  pump  or  shook  out 
wrinkled  saddle-cloths  with  most  prodigious  yawns.  The 
grooms  were  buckling  up  the  packs ;  the  chamberlain  and 
sleepy-lidded  maids  stood  at  the  door,  waiting  their  fare- 
well farthings. 

Some  of  the  company  yawned  in  the  tap-room ;  some 
yawned  out  of  doors  with  steaming  stirrup-cup  in  hand ; 
and  some  came  yawning  down  the  stairways  pulling  on 
their  riding-cloaks,  booted,  spurred,  and  ready  for  a  long 
day's  ride. 

"Good-morrow,  sirs,"  said  Carew,  heartily.  "Good- 
morrow,  sir,  to  you,"  said  they,  and  all  came  over  to  speak 
to  Nicholas  in  a  very  kindly  way ;  and  one  or  two  patted 
him  on  the  cheek  and  walked  away  speaking  in  under- 
tones among  themselves,  keeping  one  eye  on  Carew  all 
the  while.  And  Master  Tom  Heywood,  the  play-writer, 
came  out  with  a  great  slice  of  fresh  wheat-bread,  thick 
with  butter  and  dripping  with  yellow  honey,  and  gave  it 
to  Nick;  and  stood  there  silently  with  a  very  queer  ex- 
pression watching  him  eat  it,  until  Carew's  groom  led  up 
a  stout  hackney  and  a  small  roan  palfrey  to  the  block, 
and  the  master-player,  crying  impatiently,  "  Up  with  thee, 
Nick ;  we  must  be  ambling ! "  sprang  into  the  saddle  of  the 
gray. 


A  STEANGE  BIDE  71 

The  sleepy  inn-folk  roused  a  bit  to  send  a  cheery  vol- 
ley of,  "Fare  ye  well,  sirs;  come  again,"  after  the  depart- 
ing players,  and  the  long  cavalcade  cantered  briskly  out 
of  the  inn-yard,  in  double  rank,  with  a  great  clinking  of 
bridle-chains  and  a  drifting  odor  of  wet  leather  and  heavy 
perfume. 

Nick  sat  very  erect  and  rode  his  best,  feeling  like  some 
errant  knight  of  the  great  Round  Table,  ready  to  right  the 
whole  world's  wrongs.  "  But  what  about  the  horse  ? "  said 
he.  "  We  can  na  keep  him  in  Stratford,  sir." 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  seen  to,"  said  the  master-player.  "  'T  is 
to  be  sent  back  by  the  weekly  carrier." 

"And  where  do  I  turn  into  the  Stratford  road,  sir?" 
asked  Nick,  as  the  players  clattered  down  the  cobbled 
street  in  a  cloud  of  mist  that  steamed  up  so  thickly  from 
the  stones  that  the  horses  seemed  to  have  no  legs,  but  to 
float  like  boats. 

"  Some  distance  further  on,"  replied  Carew,  carelessly. 
"  'T  is  not  the  way  we  came  that  thou  shalt  ride  to-day ; 
that  is  t'  other  end  of  town,  and  the  gate  not  open  yet. 
But  the  longest  way  round  is  the  shortest  way  home,  so 
let 's  be  spurring  on." 

At  the  corner  of  the  street  a  cross  and  sleepy  cobbler 
was  strapping  a  dirty  urchin,  who  bellowed  lustily.  Nick 
winced. 

"  Hollo ! "  cried  Carew.     "  What 's  to  do  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Nick,  ruefully,  "  father  will  thresh  me 
well  this  night." 

"  Nay,"  said  Carew,  in  a  quite  decided  tone ;  "  that  he  '11 


72  MASTER  SKYLARK 

not,  I  promise  thee !  "—and  as  he  spoke  he  chuckled  softly 
to  himself. 

The  man  before  them  turned  suddenly  around  and 
grinned  queerly;  but,  catching  the  master-player's  eye, 
whipped  his  head  about  like  a  weather-vane  in  a  gale,  and 
cantered  on. 

As  they  came  down  the  narrow  street  the  watchmen 
were  just  swinging  wide  the  city  gates,  and  gave  a  cheer 
to  speed  the  parting  guests,  who  gave  a  rouse  in  turn,  and 
were  soon  lost  to  sight  in  the  mist  which  hid  the  valley  in 
a  great  gray  sea. 

"  How  shall  I  know  where  to  turn  off,  sir  ? "  asked  Nick, 
a  little  anxiously.  "  'T  is  all  alike." 

"  I  '11  tell  thee,"  said  the  master-player ;  "  rest  thee  easy 
on  that  score.  I  know  the  road  thou  art  to  ride  much 
better  than  thou  dost  thyself." 

He  smiled  quite  frankly  as  he  spoke,  and  Nick  could 
not  help  wondering  why  the  man  before  them  again  turned 
around  and  eyed  him  with  that  sneaking  grin. 

He  did  not  like  the  fellow's  looks.  He  had  scowling 
black  brows,  hair  cut  as  close  as  if  the  rats  had  gnawed  it 
off,  a  pair  of  ill-shaped  bandy-legs,  a  wide,  unwholesome 
slit  of  a  mouth,  and  a  nose  like  a  raspberry  tart.  His 
whole  appearance  was  servile  and  mean,  and  there  was  a  sly 
malice  in  his  furtive  eyes.  Besides  that,  and  a  thing  which 
strangely  fascinated  Nick's  gaze,  there  was  a  hole  through 
the  gristle  of  his  right  ear,  scarred  about  as  if  it  had  been 
burned,  and  through  this  hole  the  fellow  had  tied  a  bow 
of  crimson  ribbon,  like  a  butterfly  alighted  upon  his  ear 


A  STRANGE  RIDE  73 

"  A  pretty  fellow ! "  said  Carew,  with  a  shrug.  "  He  '11 
be  hard  put  to  dodge  the  hangman  yet ;  but  he  's  a  right 
good  fellow  in  his  way,  and  he  has  served  me — he  has 
served  me." 

The  first  loud  burst  of  talk  had  ceased,  and  all  rode 
silently  along.  The  air  was  chill,  and  Nick  was  grateful 
for  the  cloak  that  Carew  threw  around  him.  There  was 
no  sound  but  the  beat  of  many  hoofs  in  the  dust-padded 
road,  and  now  and  then  the  crowing  of  a  cock  somewhere 
within  the  cloaking  fog.  The  stars  were  gone,  and  the 
sky  was  lighting  up ;  and  all  at  once,  as  they  rode,  the 
clouds  ahead,  low  down  and  to  the  right,  broke  raggedly 
away  and  let  a  red  sun-gleam  shoot  through  across  the 
mist,  bathing  the  riders  in  dazzling  rosy  light. 

"Why,  Master  Carew,"  cried  Nick,  no  little  startled, 
"  there  comes  the  sun,  almost  ahead !  We  're  riding  east- 
ward, sir.  We  Ve  missed  the  road !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  we  've  not,"  said  Carew ;  "  nothing  of  the  sort." 
His  tone  was  so  peremptory  and  sharp  that  Nick  said 
nothing  more,  but  rode  along,  vaguely  wishing  that  he 
was  already  clattering  down  Stratford  High  street. 

The  clouds  scattered  as  the  sun  came  up,  and  the  morn- 
ing haze  drifted  away  into  cool  dales,  and  floated  off  upon 
the  breeze.  And  as  the  world  woke  up  the  players  wa- 
kened too,  and  rode  gaily  along,  laughing,  singing,  and 
chattering  together,  until  Nick  thought  he  had  never  in 
all  his  life  before  seen  such  a  jolly  fellowship.  His  heart 
was  blithe  as  he  reined  his  curveting  palfrey  by  the  mas- 
ter-player's side,  and  watched  the  sunlight  dance  and  spar- 


74  MASTER  SKYLARK 

kle  along  the  dashing  line  from  dagger-hilts  and  jeweled 
clasps,  and  the  mist-lank  plumes  curl  crisp  again  in  the 
warmth  of  the  rising  sun. 

The  master-player,  too,  had  a  graceful,  taking  way  of 
being  half  familiar  with  the  lad ;  he  was  besides  a  mar- 
velous teller  of  wonderful  tales,  and  whiled  away  the 
time  with  jests  and  quips,  mile  after  mile,  till  Nick  forgot 
both  road  and  time,  and  laughed  until  his  sides  were 
sore. 

Yet  slowly,  as  they  rode  along,  it  came  home  to  him 
with  the  passing  of  the  land  that  this  was  country  new 
and  strange.  So  he  began  to  take  notice  of  this  and  that 
beside  the  way ;  and  as  he  noticed  he  began  to  grow  un- 
easy. Thrice  had  he  come  to  Coventry,  but  surely  never 
by  a  road  like  this. 

Yet  still  the  master-player  joked  and  laughed  and 
pleased  the  boy  with  little  things— until  Nick  laughed 
too,  and  let  the  matter  go.  At  last,  however,  when  they 
had  ridden  fully  an  hour,  they  passed  a  moss-grown  abbey 
on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  road,  a  strange  old  place  that 
Nick  could  not  recall. 

"Are  ye  sure,  Master  Carew,"  he  ventured  timidly— 
"are  ye  sure  we  be  na  going  wrong,  sir?" 

At  that  the  master-player  took  on  so  offended  an  air 
that  Nick  was  sorry  he  had  spoken. 

"  Why,  now,"  said  Carew,  haughtily,  "  if  thou  dost  know 
the  roads  of  England  better  than  I,  who  have  trudged  and 
ridden  them  all  these  years,  I  '11  sit  me  down  and  learn  of 
thee  how  to  follow  mine  own  nose.  I  tell  thee  I  know  the 


A  STRANGE  RIDE  75 

road  thou  art  to  ride  this  day  better  than  thou  dost  thy- 
self ;  and  I  '11  see  to  it  that  thou  dost  come  without  fail  to 
the  very  place  that  thou  art  going.  I  will,  upon  my  word, 
and  on  the  remnant  of  mine  honour !  " 

But  in  spite  of  this  assurance,  and  in  spite  of  the  mas- 
ter-player's ceaseless  stream  of  gaiety  and  marvels,  Nick 
became  more  and  more  uneasy.  The  road  was  certainly 
growing  stranger  and  stranger  as  they  passed.  The  com- 
pany, too,  instead  of  ambling  leisurely  along,  as  they  had 
done  at  first,  were  now  spurring  ahead  at  a  good  round 
gallop,  in  answer  to  a  shrill  whistle  from  the  master- 
player  ;  and  the  horses  were  wet  with  sweat. 

They  passed  a  country  village,  too,  that  was  quite  un- 
known to  Nick,  and  a  great  highway  running  to  the  north 
that  he  had  never  seen  before ;  and  when  they  had  ridden 
for  about  two  hours,  the  road  swerved  southward  to  a 
shining  ford,  and  on  a  little  tableland  beyond  he  saw  the 
gables  of  a  town  he  did  not  know. 

"  Why,  Master  Carew ! "  he  cried  out,  half  indignant, 
half  perplexed,  and  thoroughly  frightened,  "  this  is  na  the 
Stratford  road  at  all.  I  'm  going  back.  I  will  na  ride 
another  mile ! " 

As  he  spoke  he  wheeled  the  roan  sharply  out  of  the 
clattering  file  with  a  slash  of  the  rein  across  the  withers, 
and  started  back  along  the  hill  past  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, who  came  thumping  down  behind. 

"  Stop  him !  Stop  him  there !  "  he  heard  the  master- 
player  shout,  and  there  was  something  in  the  fierce,  high 
voice  that  turned  his  whole  heart  sick.  What  right  had 


76  MASTER  SKYLAKK 

they  to  stop  him  ?  This  was  not  the  Stratford  road ;  he 
was  certain  of  that  now.  But  "Stop  him— stop  him 
there ! ''  he  heard  the  master-player  call,  and  a  wild,  un- 
reasoning fright  came  over  him.  He  dug  his  heels  into 
the  paJlr^y's  heaving  sides  and  urged  him  up  the  hill 
through  the  cloud  of  dust  that  came  rolling  down  behind 
the  horsemen.  The  hindmost  riders  had  plunged  into 
those  before,  and  the  whole  array  was  struggling,  shout- 
ing, and  wrangling  in  wild  disorder ;  but  out  of  the  flurry 
Carew  and  the  bandy-legged  man  with  the  ribbon  in  his 
ear  spurred  furiously  and  came  galloping  after  him  at  the 
top  of  their  speed. 

Nick  cried  out,  and  beat  the  palfrey  with  the  rein ;  but 
the  chase  was  short.  They  overtook  him  as  he  topped  the 
hill,  one  on  each  side,  and,  leaning  over,  Carew  snatched 
the  bridle  from  his  hand.  "  Thou  little  imp  ! "  he  panted, 
as  he  turned  the  roan  around  and  started  down  the  hill. 
"  Don't  try  this  on  again  !  " 

"  Oh,  Master  Carew,"  gasped  Nick,  "  what  are  ye  going 
to  do  wi'  me  T " 

"Do  with  thee?n  cried  the  master-player,  savagely 
clapping  his  hand  upon  his  poniard,— "why,  I  am  going 
to  do  with  thee  just  whatever  I  please.  Dost  hear  ?  And, 
hark  'e,  this  sort  of  caper  doth  not  please  me  at  all ;  and 
by  the  whistle  of  the  Lord  High  Admiral,  if  thou  triest  it 
on  again,  thy  life  is  not  worth  a  rotten  peascod ! " 

Unbuckling  the  rein,  he  tossed  one  end  to  the  bandy- 
legged man,  and  holding  the  other  in  his  own  hand,  with 
Nick  riding  helplessly  between  them,  they  trotted  down  the 


A  STRANGE  RIDE  77 

hill  again,  took  their  old  places  in  the  ranks,  and  spattered 
through  the  shallow  ford. 

The  bandy-legged  man  had  pulled  a  dagger  from  be* 
neath  his  coat,  and  held  it  under  his  bridle-rein,  shining 
through  the  horse's  mane  as  they  dashed  through  the  still 
half -sleeping  town.  Nick  was  speechless  with  terror. 

Beyond  the  town's  end  they  turned  sharply  to  the  north- 
east, galloping  steadily  onward  for  what  was  perhaps 
half  an  hour,  though  to  Nick  it  seemed  a  forever,  until 
they  came  out  into  a  great  highway  running  southward. 
"  Watling  street !  "  he  heard  the  man  behind  him  say,  and 
knew  that  they  were  in  the  old  Roman  road  that  stretched 
from  London  to  the  north.  Still  they  were  galloping, 
though  long  strings  dribbled  from  the  horses'  mouths,  and 
the  saddle-leathers  dripped  with  foam.  One  or  two  looked 
back  at  him  and  bit  their  lips ;  but  Carew's  eyes  were  hot 
and  fierce,  and  his  hand  was  on  his  poniard.  The  rest, 
after  a  curious  glance  or  two,  shrugged  their  shoulders 
carelessly  and  galloped  on :  this  affair  was  Master  Gaston 
Carew's  business,  not  theirs. 

Until  high  noon  they  hurried  on  with  neither  stop  nor 
stay.  Then  they  came  to  a  place  where  a  little  brook  sang 
through  the  grass  by  the  roadside  in  a  shady  nook  beneath 
some  mighty  oaks,  and  there  the  master-player  whistled 
for  a  halt,  to  give  the  horses  breath  and  rest,  and  to  water 
them  at  the  brook-pools.  Some  of  the  players  sauntered 
up  and  down  to  stretch  their  tired  legs,  munching  meat 
and  bread ;  and  some  lay  down  upon  the  grass  and  slept  a 
little.  Two  of  them  came,  offering  Nick  some  cakes  and 


78  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

cheese ;  but  he  was  crying  hard  and  would  neither  eat  nor 
drink,  though  Carew  urged  him  earnestly.  Then  Master 
Tom  Heywood,  with  an  ugly  look  at  Carew,  and  without 
so  much  as  an  if-ye-please  or  a  by-your-leave,  led  Nick  up 
the  brook  to  a  spot  where  it  had  not  been  muddied  by  the 
horses,  and  made  him  wash  his  dusty  face  and  hands  in 
the  cool  water  and  dampen  his  hair,  though  he  complied 
as  if  in  a  daze.  And  indeed  Nick  rode  on  through  the 
long  afternoon,  clinging  helplessly  to  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle,  sobbing  bitterly  until  for  very  weariness  he  could 
no  longer  sob. 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock  that  night  when  they  rode  into 
Towcester,  and  all  that  was  to  be  seen  was  a  butcher's  boy 
carting  garbage  out  of  the  town  and  whistling  to  keep  his 
courage  up.  The  watch  had  long  since  gone  to  sleep 
about  the  silent  streets,  but  a  dim  light  burned  in  the  tap- 
room of  the  Old  Brown  Cow ;  and  there  the  players  rested 
for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  DASH  FOR  FREEDOM 

NICK  awoke  from  a  heavy,  burning  sleep,  aching  from 
head  to  foot.  The  master-player,  up  and  dressed, 
stood  by  the  window,  scowling  grimly  out  into  the  ashy 
dawn.  Nick  made  haste  to  rise,  but  could  not  atifle  a 
sharp  cry  of  pain  as  he  staggered  to  his  feet,  he  was  so 
racked  and  sore  with  riding. 

At  the  boy's  smothered  cry  Carew  turned,  and  his  dark 
face  softened  with  a  sudden  look  of  pity  and  concern. 
"  Why,  Nick,  my  lad,"  he  cried,  and  hurried  to  his  side, 
"  this  is  too  bad,  indeed !  "  and  without  more  words  took 
him  gently  in  his  arms  and  carried  him  down  to  the  court- 
yard well,  where  he  bathed  him  softly  from  neck  to  heel 
in  the  cold,  refreshing  water,  and  wiped  him  with  a  soft, 
clean  towel  as  tenderly  as  if  he  had  been  the  lad's  own 
mother.  And  having  dried  him  thoroughly,  he  rubbed  him 
with  a  waxy  ointment  that  smelled  of  henbane  and  poppies, 
until  the  aching  was  almost  gone.  So  soft  and  so  kind  was 
he  withal  that  Nick  took  heart  after  a  little  and  asked  tim- 
idly, "  And  ye  will  let  me  go  home  to-day,  sir,  will  ye  not  f  " 

79 


80  MASTER  SKYLARK 

The  master-player  frowned. 

"  Please,  Master  Carew,  let  me  go." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Carew,  impatiently,  "enough  of 
this!"  and  stamped  his  foot. 

"  But,  oh,  Master  Carew,"  pleaded  Nick,  with  a  sob  in 
his  throat,  "  my  mother's  heart  will  surely  break  if  I  do 
na  come  home ! " 

Carew  started,  and  his  mouth  twitched  queerly 
"  Enough,  I  say— enough !  "  he  cried.  "  I  will  not  hear; 
I  '11  have  no  more.  I  tell  thee  hold  thy  tongue— be  dumb ! 
I  '11  not  have  ears— thou  shalt  not  speak!  Dost  hear?" 
He  dashed  the  towel  to  the  ground.  "I  bid  thee  hold 
thy  tongue." 

Nick  hid  his  face  between  his  hands,  and  leaned  against 
the  rough  stone  wall,  a  naked,  shivering,  wretched  little 
chap  indeed.  "  Oh,  mother,  mother,  mother !  "  he  sobbed 
pitifully. 

A  singular  expression  came  over  the  master-player's  face. 
"  I  will  not  hear— I  tell  thee  I  will  not  hear ! "  he  choked , 
and,  turning  suddenly  away,  he  fell  upon  the  sleepy  hos- 
tler, who  was  drawing  water  at  the  well,  and  rated  him 
outrageously,  to  that  astounded  worthy's  great  amazement 

Nick  crept  into  his  clothes,  and  stole  away  to  the  kitchen 
door.  There  was  a  red-faced  woman  there  who  bade  him 
not  to  cry — 't  would  soon  be  breakfast-time.  Nick  thought 
he  could  not  eat  at  all ;  but  when  the  savory  smell  crept 
out  and  filled  the  chilly  air,  his  poor  little  empty  stomach 
would  not  be  denied,  and  he  ate  heartily.  Master  Hey- 
wood  sat  beside  him  and  gave  him  the  choicest  bits  from 


A  DASH  FOR  FREEDOM  81 

his  own  trencher ;  and  Carew  himself,  seeing  that  he  ate, 
looked  strangely  pleased,  and  ordered  him  a  tiny  mutton- 
pie,  well  spiced.  Nick  pushed  it  back  indignantly ;  but 
Heywood  took  the  pie  and  cut  it  open,  saying  quietly: 
"  Come,  lad,  the  good  God  made  the  sheep  that  is  in  this 
pie,  not  Gaston  Carew.  Eat  it— come,  't  will  do  thee  good ! " 
and  saw  him  finish  the  last  crumb. 

From  Towcester  south  through  Northamptonshire  is  a 
pretty  country  of  rolling  hills  and  undulating  hollows, 
ribboned  with  pebbly  rivers,  and  dotted  with  fair  parks 
and  tofts  of  ash  and  elm  and  oak.  Straggling  villages 
now  and  then  were  threaded  on  the  road  like  beads  upon 
a  string,  and  here  and  there  the  air  was  damp  and  misty 
from  the  grassy  fens  along  some  winding  stream. 

It  was  against  nature  that  a  healthy,  growing  lad  should 
be  so  much  cast  down  as  not  to  see  and  be  interested  in 
the  strange,  new,  passing  world  of  things  about  him ;  and 
little  by  little  Nick  roused  from  his  wretchedness  and 
began  to  look  about  him.  And  a  wonder  grew  within  his 
brain :  why  had  they  stolen  him  ?— where  were  they  tak- 
ing him  ?— what  would  they  do  with  him  there  ?— or  would 
they  soon  let  him  go  again  ? 

Every  yellow  cloud  of  dust  arising  far  ahead  along  the 
road  wrought  up  his  hopes  to  a  Bluebeard  pitch,  as  regu- 
larly to  fall.  First  came  a  cast-off  soldier  from  the  war 
in  the  Netherlands,  rakishly  forlorn,  his  breastplate  full 
of  rusty  dents,  his  wild  hair  worn  by  his  steel  cap,  swag- 
gering along  on  a  sorry  hack  with  an  old  belt  full  of  pis- 
toJets,  and  his  long  sword  thumping  Rosinante's  ribs. 
i 


82  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

Then  a  peddling  chapman,  with  a  dust-white  pack  and  a 
cunning  Hebrew  look,  limped  by,  sulkily  doffing  his  greasy 
hat.  Two  sturdy  Midland  journeymen,  in  search  of  south- 
ern  handicraft,  trudged  down  with  tool-bags  over  their 
shoulders  and  stout  oak  staves  in  hand.  Of  wretched 
beggars  and  tattered  rogues  there  was  an  endless  string. 
But  of  any  help  no  sign. 

Here  and  there,  like  a  moving  dot,  a  ploughman  turned 
a  belated  furrow ;  or  a  sweating  ditcher  leaned  upon  his 
reluctant  spade  and  longed  for  night ;  or  a  shepherd,  quite 
as  silly  as  his  sheep,  gawked  up  the  morning  hills.  But 
not  a  sign  of  help  for  Nick. 

Once,  passing  through  a  little  town,  he  raised  a  sudden 
cry  of  "  Help !  Help— they  be  stealing  me  away ! "  But 
at  that  the  master-player  and  the  bandy-legged  man  waved 
their  hands  and  set  up  such  a  shout  that  his  shrill  outcry 
was  not  even  heard.  And  the  simple  country  bumpkins, 
standing  in  a  grinning  row  like  so  many  Old  Aunt  Sallys 
at  a  fair,  pulled  off  their  caps  and  bowed,  thinking  it  some 
company  of  great  lords,  and  fetched  a  clownish  cheer  as 
the  players  galloped  by. 

Then  the  hot  dust  got  into  Nick's  throat,  and  he  began 
to  cough.  Carew  started  with  a  look  of  alarm.  "  Come, 
come,  Nicholas,  this  will  never  do — never  do  in  the  world  j 
thou  'It  spoil  thy  voice." 

"  I  do  na  care,"  said  Nick. 

"  But  I  do,"  said  Carew,  sharply.  "  So  we  '11  have  no 
more  of  it ! "  and  he  clapped  his  hand  upon  his  poniard. 
u  But,  nay— nay,  lad,  I  did  not  mean  to  threaten  thee— 't  is 


A  DASH  FOR  FREEDOM  83 

but  a  jest.  Come,  smooth  thy  throat,  and  do  not  shriek 
no  more.  We  play  in  old  St.  Albans  town  to-night,  and 
thou  art  to  sing  thy  song  for  us  again." 

Nick  pressed  his  lips  tight  shut  and  shook  his  head.  He 
would  not  sing  for  them  again. 

"  Come,  Nick,  I  've  promised  Tom  Heywood  that  thou 
shouldst  sing  his  song ;  and,  lad,  there  's  no  one  left  in  all 
the  land  to  sing  it  if  thou  'It  not.  Tom  doth  dearly  love 
thee,  lad— why,  sure,  thou  hast  seen  that !  And,  Nick,  I  've 
promised  all  the  company  that  thou  wouldst  sing  Tom's 
song  with  us  to-night.  'T  will  break  their  hearts  if  thou 
wilt  not.  Come,  Nick,  thou  'It  sing  it  for  us  all,  and  set 
old  Albans  town  afire ! "  said  Carew,  pleadingly. 

Nick  shook  his  head. 

"Come,  Nick,"  said  Carew,  coaxingly,  "we  must  hear 
that  sweet  voice  of  thine  in  Albans  town  to-night.  Come, 
there  's  a  dear,  good  lad,  and  give  us  just  one  little  song ! 
Come,  act  the  man  and  sing,  as  thou  alone  in  all  the  world 
canst  sing,  in  Albans  town  this  night ;  and  on  my  word, 
and  on  the  remnant  of  mine  honour,  I  '11  leave  thee  go 
back  to  Stratford  town  to-morrow  morning !  " 

"To  Stratford— to-morrow ?"  stammered  Nick,  with  a 
glad,  incredulous  cry,  while  his  heart  leaped  up  within 
him. 

"  Ay,  verily ;  upon  my  faith  as  the  fine  fag-end  of  a  very 
proper  gentleman— thou  shalt  go  back  to  Stratford  town 
to-morrow  if  thou  wilt  but  do  thy  turn  with  us  to-night." 

Nick  caught  the  master-player's  arm  as  they  rode  along, 
almost  crying  for  very  joy :  "  Oh,  that  I  will,  sir— and  do 


84  MASTER  SKYLARK 

my  very  best.  And,  oh,  Master  Carew,  I  ha'  thought  so 
ill  o'  thee !  Forgive  me,  sir ;  I  did  na  know  thee  well." 

€  <wew  winced.  Hastily  throwing  the  rein  to  Nick,  he 
left  him  to  master  his  own  array. 

As  for  Nick,  as  happy  as  a  lark  he  learned  his  new 
lines  as  he  rode  along,  Master  Carew  saying  them  over  to 
him  from  the  manuscript  and  over  again  until  he  made 
not  a  single  mistake ;  and  was  at  great  pains  to  teach  him 
the  latest  fashionable  London  way  of  pronouncing  all  the 
words,  and  of  emphasizing  his  set  phrases.  "  Nay,  nay," 
he  would  cry  laughingly,  "not  that  way,  lad;  but  this: 
'Good  my  lord,  I  bring  a  letter  from  the  duke'— as  if 
thou  hadst  indeed  a  letter,  see,  and  not  an  empty  fist. 
And  when  thou  dost  hand  it  to  him,  do  it  thus— and  not 
as  if  thou  wert  about  to  stab  him  in  the  paunch  with  a 
cheese-knife !  "  And  at  the  end  he  clapped  him  upon  the 
back  and  said  again  and  again  that  he  loved  him,  that 
he  was  a  dear,  sweet  figure  of  a  lad,  and  that  his  voice 
among  the  rest  of  England's  singers,  was  like  clear  honey 
dropping  into  a  pot  of  grease. 

But  it  is  a  long  ride  from  Towcester  to  St.  Albans  town 
in  Herts,  though  the  road  runs  through  a  pleasant,  billowy 
land  of  oak- walled  lanes,  wide  pastures,  and  quiet  parks ; 
and  the  steady  jog,  jog  of  the  little  roan  began  to  rack 
Nick's  tired  bones  before  the  day  was  done. 

Yet  when  they  marched  into  the  quaint  old  town  to  the 
blare  of  trumpets  and  the  crash  of  the  kettledrums,  all  the 
long  line  gaudy  with  the  coat-armour  of  the  Lord  High 
Admiral  beneath  their  flaunting  banners,  and  the  horses 


A  DASH  FOR  FREEDOM  85 

pricked  up  their  ears  and  arched  their  necks  and  pranced 
along  the  crowded  streets,  Nick,  stared  at  by  all  the  good 
townsfolk,  could  not  help  feeling  a  thrill  of  pride  that  he 
was  one  of  the  great  company  of  players,  and  sat  up  very 
straight  and  held  his  head  up  haughtily  as  Master  Carew 
did,  and  bore  himself  with  as  lordly  an  air  as  he  knew  how. 

Bur  when  morning  came,  and  he  danced  blithely  back 
from  washing  himself  at  the  horse-trough,  all  ready  to 
start  for  home,  he  found  the  little  roan  cross-bridled  as 
before  between  the  master-player's  gray  and  the  bandy- 
legged fellow's  sorrel  mare. 

"  What,  there !  cast  him  loose,"  said  he  to  the  horse-boy 
who  held  the  three.  "  I  am  not.  going  on  with  the  players 
— I  ;m  to  go  back  to  Stratford." 

"  Then  ye  go  afoot,"  coolly  rejoined  the  other,  grinning, 
"  for  the  hoss  goeth  on  wi'  the  rest." 

"  What  is  this,  Master  Carew  ? "  cried  Nick,  indignantly, 
bursting  into  the  tap-room,  where  the  players  were  at  ale. 
"  They  will  na  let  me  have  the  horse,  sir.  Am  I  to  walk 
the  whole  way  back  to  Stratford  town  ? " 

"  To  Stratford  ? "  asked  Master  Carew,  staring  with  an 
expression  of  most  innocent  surprise,  as  he  set  his  ale-can 
down  and  turned  around.  "  Why,  thou  art  not  going  to 
Stratford." 

"  Not  going  to  Stratford ! "  gasped  Nick,  catching  at  the 
table  with  a  sinking  heart.  "  Why,  sir,  ye  promised  that 
I  should  to-day." 

"Nay,  now,  that  I  did  not,  Nicholas.    I  promised  thee 


86  MASTER  SKYLARK 

that  thou  shonldst  go  back  to-morrow— were  not  those  my 
very  words?" 

"  Ay,  that  they  were,"  cried  Nick ;  "  and  why  will  ye  na 
leave  me  go?" 

"  Why,  this  is  not  to-morrow,  Nick.  Why,  see,  I  can- 
not leave  thee  go  to-day.  Thou  knowest  that  I  said  to- 
morrow; and  this  is  not  to-morrow— on  thine  honour,  is 
it  now  ? " 

"How  can  I  tell?"  cried  Nick,  despairingly.  "Yester- 
day ye  said  it  would  be,  and  now  ye  say  that  it  is  na. 
Ye  Ve  twisted  it  all  up  so  that  a  body  can  na  tell  at  all. 
But  there  is  a  falsehood— a  wicked,  black  falsehood— 
somewhere  betwixt  you  and  me,  sir ;  and  ye  know  that  I 
have  na  lied  to  you,  Master  Carew ! " 

Through  the  tap-room  door  he  saw  the  open  street  and 
the  hills  beyond  the  town.  Catching  his  breath,  he  sprang 
across  the  sill,  and  ran  for  the  free  fields  at  the  top  of  his 
speed. 


CHAPTER  XTV 

AT   BAY 

"AFTER  him!— stop  him!— catch  the  rogue!"  cried 
JLjL  Carew,  running  out  on  the  cobbles  with  his  ale-can 
in  his  hand.  "A  shilling  to  the  man  that  brings  him 
back  unharmed!  No  blows,  nor  clubs,  nor  stabbing, 
hark  'e,  but  catch  me  the  knave  straightway ;  he  hath 
snatched  a  fortune  from  my  hands ! " 

At  that  the  hostler,  whip  in  hand,  and  the  tapster  with 
his  bit,  were  off  as  fast  as  their  legs  could  carry  them, 
bawling  "  Stop,  thief,  stop ! "  at  the  top  of  their  lungs ; 
and  at  their  backs  every  idle  varlet  about  the  inn— grooms, 
stable-boys,  and  hangers-on—ran  whooping,  howling,  and 
hallooing  like  wild  huntsmen. 

Nick's  frightened  heart  was  in  his  mouth,  and  his  breath 
came  quick  and  sharp.  Tap-a-tap,  tap-a-tap  went  his  feet 
on  the  cobblestones  as  down  the  long  street  he  flew,  run- 
ning as  he  had  never  run  before. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  town  bellowed  at  his  back ; 
for  windows  creaked  above  his  head,  and  doors  banged 
wildly  after  him ;  curs  from  every  alley- way  came  yelping 

87 


88  MASTEE  SKYLAEK 

at  his  heels ;  apprentices  let  go  the  shutter-bars,  and  joined 
in  the  chase ;  and  near  and  nearer  came  the  cry  of  "  Stop, 
thief,  stop ! "  and  the  kloppety-klop  of  hob-nailed  shoes  in 
wild  pursuit. 

The  rabble  filled  the  dark  old  street  from  wall  to  wall, 
as  if  a  cloud  of  good-f or-naughts  had  burst  above  the  town ; 
and  far  in  front  sped  one  small,  curly-headed  lad,  running 
like  a  frightened  fawn.  He  had  lost  his  cap,  and  his 
breath  came  short,  half  sobbing  in  his  throat  as  the  sound 
of  footfalls  gained  upon  his  ear ;  but  even  yet  he  might 
have  beaten  them  all  and  reached  the  open  fields  but 
for  the  dirt  and  garbage  in  the  street.  Three  times  he 
slipped  upon  a  rancid  bacon-rind  and  almost  fell ;  and  the 
third  time,  as  he  plunged  across  the  oozing  drain,  a  dog 
dashed  right  between  his  feet. 

He  staggered,  nearly  fell,  threw  out  his  hand  against  the 
house  and  saved  himself;  but  as  he  started  on  again  he 
saw  the  town-watch,  wakened  by  the  uproar,  standing  with 
their  long  staves  at  the  end  of  the  street,  barring  the  way. 

The  door  of  a  smithy  stood  open  just  ahead,  with  forge- 
fires  glowing  and  the  hammer  ringing  on  the  anvil.  Nick 
darted  in,  past  the  horses,  hostlers,  and  blacksmith's  boys, 
and  caught  at  the  leather  apron  of  the  sturdy  smith  himself. 

"  Hoo,  man,  what  a  dickens !  "  snorted  he,  dropping  the 
red-hot  shoe  on  which  he  was  at  work,  and  staring  like  a 
startled  ox  at  the  paniing  little  fugitive. 

"  Do  na  leave  them  take  me ! "  panted  Nick.  "  They 
ha'  stolen  me  away  from  Stratford  town  and  will  na  leave 
me  go ! " 


H  * 

00    Q 

M  § 


I? 

O     M 


Q  « 
J  O 
0  15 


AT  BAY  89 

At  that  Will  Hostler  bolted  in,  red-faced  and  scant  of 
wind.  "  Thou  young  rascal,"  quoth  he,  "  I  have  thee  now ! 
Come  out  o'  that !  "  and  he  tried  to  take  Nick  by  the  collar. 

"So-oftly,  so-oftly!"  rumbled  the  smith,  tweaking  up 
the  glowing  shoe  in  his  great  pincers,  and  sweeping  a  sput- 
tering half -circle  in  front  of  the  cowering  lad.  "  Droive 
slow  through  the  cro-owd !  What  hath  youngster  here 
did  no-ow  ? " 

"  He  hath  stolen  a  fortune  from  his  master  at  the  Three 
Lions— and  the  shilling  for  him  's  mine !  n 

"  Hath  stealed  a  fortune  ?  Whoy,  huttlety-tut ! "  roared 
the  burly  smith,  turning  ponderously  upon  Nick,  who  was 
dodging  around  him  like  a  boy  at  tag  around  a  tree. 
"  Whoy,  lad,"  said  he,  scratching  his  puzzled  head  with  his 
great,  grimy  fingers,  "  where  hast  putten  it  ? " 

All  the  rout  and  the  riot  now  came  plunging  into  the 
smithy,  breathless  with  the  chase.  Master  Carew  himself, 
his  ale-can  still  clutched  in  his  hand,  and  bearing  himself 
with  a  high  air  of  dignity,  followed  after  them,  frowning. 

"What?"  said  he.  angrily,  "have  ye  earthed  the  cub 
and  cannot  dig  him  out  ?  Hast  caught  him  there,  fellow  ? " 

"Ay,  master,  that  I  have!"  shouted  Will  Hostler. 
u  Shilling  's  mine,  sir." 

"  Then  fetch  him  out  of  this  hole ! "  cried  Carew,  sniffing 
disdainfully  at  the  low,  smoky  door. 

"But  he  will  na  be  fetched,"  stammered  the  doughty 
Will,  keeping  a  most  respectful  distance  from  the  long  black 
pincers  and  the  sputtering  shoe  with  which  the  farrier  stol- 
idly mowed  the  air  round  about  Nick  Attwood  and  himself. 


90  MASTER  SKYLARK 

At  that  the  crowd  set  up  a  shout 

Carew  thrust  fiercely  into  the  press,  the  louts  and  loaf- 
ers giving  way.  "  What,  here !  Nicholas  Attwood,"  said 
he,  harshly,  "  come  hither." 

"  Do  na  leave  him  take  me,"  begged  Nick.  "  He  is  not 
my  master;  I  am  not  bound  out  apprentice— they  are 
stealing  me  away  from  my  own  home,  and  it  will  break 
my  mother's  heart." 

"  Nobody  breaks  nobody's  hearts  in  old  Jo-ohn  Smithses 
sho-op,"  drawled  the  smith,  in  his  deep  voice ;  "  nor  steals 
nobody,  nother.  We  be  honest-dealing  folk  in  Albans 
town,  an'  makes  as  good  horse-shoes  as  be  forged  in  all 
England"— and  he  went  placidly  on  mowing  the  air  with 
the  glimmering  shoe. 

"  Here,  fellow,  stand  aside,"  commanded  Master  Carew, 
haughtily.  "  Stand  aside  and  let  me  pass !  "  As  he  spoke 
he  clapped  his  hand  upon  his  poniard  with  a  fierce  snarl, 
showing  his  white  teeth  like  a  wolf-hound. 

The  men  about  him  fell  back  with  unanimous  alacrity, 
making  out  each  to  put  himself  behind  the  other.  But 
the  huge  smith  only  puffed  out  his  sooty  cheeks  as  if  to 
blow  a  fly  off  the  next  bite  of  cheese.  "  So-oftly,  so-oftly, 
muster,"  drawled  he ;  "  do  na  go  to  ruffling  it  here.  This 
shop  be  mine,  and  I  be  free-born  Englishman.  I  '11  stand 
aside  for  no  swash-buckling  rogue  on  my  own  ground. 
Come,  now,  what  wilt  thou  o'  the  lad?— and  speak  thee 
fair,  good  muster,  or  thou  'It  get  a  dab  o'  the  red-hot  shoe." 
As  he  spoke  he  gave  the  black  tongs  an  extra  whirl. 


CHAPTER  XV 

LONDON  TOWN 

,"  growled  the  blacksmith,  gripping  his  tongs, 
"  what  wilt  thou  have  o'  the  lad  ? " 

"  What  will  I  have  o'  the  lad  ? "  said  Master  Carew,  mim- 
icking the  blacksmith  in  a  most  comical  way,  with  a  wink 
at  the  crowd,  as  if  he  had  never  been  angry  at  all,  so 
quickly  could  he  change  his  face— "What  will  I  have  o' 
the  lad?"  and  all  the  crowd  laughed.  "Why,  bless  thy 
gentle  heart,  good  man,  I  want  to  turn  his  farthings  into 
round  gold  crowns— if  thou  and  thine  infernal  hot  shoe 
do  not  make  zanies  of  us  all !  Why,  Master  Smith,  't  is 
to  London  town  I  'd  take  him,  and  fill  his  hands  with 
more  silver  shillings  than  there  be  cast-off  shoes  in  thy 
whole  shop." 

"  La,  now,  hearken  till  him ! "  gaped  the  smith,  staring 
in  amazement. 

"  And  here  thou  needs  must  up  and  spoil  it  all,  because, 
forsooth,  the  silly  child  goes  a  trifle  sick  for  home  and 
whimpers  for  his  minnie !  " 

"  But  the  lad  saith  thou  hast  stealed  him  awa-ay  from  's 

91 


92  MASTER  SKYLARK 

ho-ome,"  rumbled  the  smith,  like  a  doubtful  earthquake , 
11  and  we  '11  ha'  no  stealing  o'  lads  awa-ay  from  ho-ome  in 
County  Herts !  " 

"  Nay,  that  we  won't ! "  cried  one.  "  Hurrah,  John  Smith 
— fair  play,  fair  play !  "  and  there  came  an  ugly,  threaten- 
ing murmur  from  the  crowd. 

"  What !  Fair  play  ? "  cried  Master  Carew,  turning  so 
sharply  about,  with  his  hand  upon  his  poniard,  that  each 
made  as  if  it  were  not  he  but  his  neighbor  had  growled. 
"  Why,  sirs,  what  if  I  took  any  one  of  ye  out  of  your  pov- 
erty and  common  clothes  down  into  London  town,  horse- 
back like  a  king,  and  had  ye  sing  before  the  Queen,  and 
play  for  earls,  and  talk  with  the  highest  dames  in  all  the 
land ;  and  fed  ye  well,  and  spoke  ye  fair,  and  lodged  ye 
soft,  and  clad  ye  fine,  and  wrought  the  whole  town  on  to 
cheer  ye,  and  to  fill  your  purses  full  of  gold  ?  What,  sir," 
said  he,  turning  to  the  gaping  farrier—"  what  if  I  promised 
thee  to  turn  thine  every  word  to  a  silver  sixpence,  and 
thy  smutty  grins  to  golden  angels— what  wouldst  thou? 
Knock  me  in  the  head  with  thy  dirty  sledge,  and  bawl 
foul  play  ?  " 

"Nay,  that  I  'd  not,"  roared  the  burly  smith,  with  a 
stupid,  ox-like  grin,  scratching  his  tousled  head ;  "  I  'd  say, 
'  Go  it,  bully,  and  a  plague  on  him  that  said  thee  nay ! ' n 

"  And  yet  when  I  would  fill  this  silly  fellow's  jerkin  full 
of  good  gold  Harry  shovel-boards  for  the  simple  drawing 
of  his  breath,  ye  bawl  '  Foul  play ! ' " 

"  What,  here !  come  out,  lad,"  roared  the  smith,  with  a 
great  horse-laugh,  swinging  Nick  forward  and  thwacking 


LONDON  TOWN  93 

him  jovially  between  the  shoulders  with  his  brawny  hand ; 
"come  out,  and  go  along  o'  the  master  here,— 't  is  for  thy 
good,— and  ho-ome  wull  keep,  I  trow,  till  thou  dost  come 
again." 

But  Nick  hung  back,  and  clung  to  the  blacksmith's  grimy 
arm,  crying  in  despair :  "  I  will  na— oh,  I  will  na ! " 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  cried  Master  Carew.  "  Come,  Nicholas ;  I 
mean  thee  well,  I  '11  speak  thee  fair,  and  I  '11  treat  thee 
true"— and  he  smiled  so  frankly  that  even  Nick's  doubts 
almost  wavered.  "  Come,  I  '11  swear  it  on  my  hilt,"  said 
he. 

The  smith's  brow  clouded.  "  Nay,"  said  he ;  "  we  '11  no 
swearing  by  hilts  or  by  holies  here ;  the  bailiff  will  na  have 
it,  sir." 

"  Good !  then  upon  mine  honour  as  an  Englishman !  * 
cried  Carew.  "  What,  how,  bullies  ?  Upon  mine  honour 
as  an  Englishman !— how  is  it?  Here  we  be,  all  English- 
men together !  "  and  he  clapped  his  hand  to  Will  Hostler's 
shoulder,  whereat  Will  stood  up  very  straight  and  looked 
around,  as  if  all  at  once  he  were  somebody  instead  of  some- 
what less  than  nobody  at  all  of  any  consequence.  "  What ! 
—ye  are  all  for  fair  play  ?— and  I  am  for  fair  play,  and 
good  Master  Smith,  with  his  beautiful  shoe,  here,  is  for 
fair  play !  Why,  sirs,  my  bullies,  we  are  all  for  fair  play ; 
and  what  more  can  a  man  ask  than  good,  downright  Eng- 
lish fair  play  T  Nothing,  say  I.  Fair  play  first,  last,  and 
all  the  time ! "  and  he  waved  his  hand.  "  Hurrah  for 
downright  English  fair  play !  n 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah ! »  bellowed  the  crowd,  swept  along 


94  MASTER  SKYLARK 

like  bubbles  in  a  flood.  "  Fair  play,  says  we— English  fair 
play—hurrah  j  »  And  those  inside  waved  their  hands, 
and  those  that  were  outside  tossed  up  their  caps,  in  sheer 
delight  of  good  fair  play. 

"  Hurrah,  my  bullies !  That 's  the  cry ! "  said  Carew,  in 
his  hail-f ellow-well-met,  royal  way.  "  Why,  we  're  the  very 
best  of  fellows,  and  the  very  fastest  friends !  Come,  all 
to  the  old  Three  Lions  inn,  and  douse  a  can  of  brown 
March  brew  at  my  expense.  To  the  Queen,  to  good  fair 
play,  and  to  all  the  fine  fellows  in  Albans  town !  " 

And  what  did  the  crowd  do  but  raise  a  shout,  like  a 
parcel  of  school-boys  loosed  for  a  holiday,  and  troop  off  to 
the  Three  Lions  inn  at  Master  Carew's  heels,  Will  Hostler 
and  the  brawny  smith  bringing  up  the  rear  with  Nick  be- 
tween them,  hand  to  collar,  half  forgotten  by  the  rest,  and 
his  heart  too  low  for  further  grief. 

And  while  the  crowd  were  still  roaring  over  their  tank- 
ards and  cheering  good  fair  play,  Master  Gaston  Carew 
up  with  his  prisoner  into  the  saddle,  and,  mounting  him- 
self, with  the  bandy-legged  man  grinning  opposite,  shook 
the  dust  of  old  St.  Albans  from  his  horse's  heels. 

"  Now,  Nicholas  Attwood,"  said  he,  grimly,  as  they  gal- 
loped away,  "hark  'e  well  to  what  I  have  to  say,  and  do 
not  let  it  slip  thy  mind.  I  am  willed  to  take  thee  to 
London  town — dost  mark  me  ? — and  to  London  town  thou 
shalt  go,  warm  or  cold.  By  the  whistle  of  the  Lord  High 
Admiral,  I  mean  just  what  I  say !  So  thou  mayst  take  thy 
choice." 

He  gripped  Nick's  shoulder  as  they  rode,  and  glared  into 


LONDON  TOWN  95 

his  eyes  as  if  to  sear  them  with  his  own.  Nick  heard  his 
poniard  grating  in  its  sheath,  and  shut  his  eyes  so  that  he 
might  not  see  the  master-player's  horrid  stare;  for  the 
opening  and  shutting,  opening  and  shutting,  of  the  blue 
lids  made  him  shudder. 

"  And  what  's  more,"  said  Carew,  sternly,  "  I  shall  call 
thee  Master  Skylark  from  this  time  forth— dost  hear  f  And 
when  I  bid  thee  go,  thou  'It  go ;  and  when  I  bid  thee  come, 
thou  'It  come ;  and  when  I  say, '  Here,  follow  me ! '  thou  'It 
follow  like  a  dog  to  heel !  "  He  drew  up  his  lip  until  his 
white  teeth  showed,  and  Nick,  hearing  them  gritting  to- 
gether, shrank  back  dismayed. 

"  There ! "  laughed  Carew,  scornfully.  "  He  that  knows 
better  how  to  tame  a  vixen  or  to  cozen  a  pack  of  gulls, 
now  let  him  speak ! "  and  said  no  more  until  they  passed 
by  Chipping  Barnet.  Then,  "Nick,"  said  he,  in  a  quiet, 
kindly  tone,  as  if  they  had  been  friends  for  years,  "  this  is 
the  place  where  Warwick  fell";  and  pointed  down  the 
field.  "  There  in  the  corner  of  that  croft  they  piled  the 
noble  dead  like  corn  upon  a  threshing-floor.  Since  then," 
said  he,  with  quiet  irony,  "men  have  stopped  making 
English  kings  as  the  Dutch  make  dolls,  of  a  stick  and  a 
poll  thereon." 

Pleased  with  hearing  his  own  voice,  he  would  have  gone 
on  with  many  another  thing ;  but  seeing  that  Nick  listened 
not  at  all  to  what  he  said,  he  ceased,  and  rode  on  silently 
or  chatting  with  the  others. 

The  country  through  Middlesex  was  in  most  part  flat, 
and  heavy  forests  overhung  the  road  from  time  to  time. 


96  MASTER  SXYLARK 

There  the  players  slipped  their  poniards,  and  rode  with 
rapier  in  hand ;  for  many  a  dark  deed  and  cruel  robbery 
had  been  done  along  this  stretch  of  Watling  street.  And 
as  they  passed,  more  than  one  dark-visaged  rogue  with 
branded  hand  and  a  price  upon  his  head  peered  at  them 
from  the  copses  by  the  way. 

In  places  where  the  woods  crept  very  near  they  pressed 
closer  together  and  rode  rapidly ;  and  the  horse-boy  and 
the  grooms  lit  up  the  matches  of  their  pistolets,  and 
laid  their  harquebuses  ready  in  rest,  and  blew  the  creep- 
ing sparkle  snapping  red  at  every  turn;  not  so  much 
really  fearing  an  attack  upon  so  stout  a  party  of  reckless, 
dashing  blades,  as  being  overawed  by  the  great,  mysteri- 
ous silence  of  the  forest,  the  semi-twilight  all  about,  and 
the  cold,  strange-smelling  wind  that  fanned  their  faces. 

The  wild  spattering  of  hoofs  in  water-pools  that  lay  un- 
sucked  by  the  sun  in  shadowy  stretches,  the  grim  silence 
of  the  riders,  and  the  wary  eying  of  each  covert  as  they 
passed,  sent  a  thrill  of  excitement  into  Nick's  heart  too 
keen  for  any  boy  to  resist. 

Then,  too,  it  was  no  everyday  tale  to  be  stolen  away 
from  home.  It  was  a  wild,  strange  thing  with  a  strange, 
wild  sound  to  it,  not  altogether  terrible  or  unpleasant  to 
a  brave  boy's  ears  in  that  wonder-filled  age,  when  all  the 
world  was  turned  adventurer,  and  England  led  the  fore ; 
when  Francis  Drake  and  the  "  Golden  Hind,"  John  Haw- 
kins and  the  "Victory,"  Frobisher  and  his  cockleshells, 
were  gossip  for  every  English  fireside;  when  the  whole 
world  rang  with  English  steel,  and  the  wide  sea  foamed 


LONDON  TOWN  97 

with  English  keels,  and  the  air  was  full  of  the  blaze  of  the 
living  and  the  ghosts  of  the  mighty  dead.  And  down  in 
Nick's  plucky  young  English  heart  there  came  a  spark  like 
that  which  burns  in  the  soul  of  a  mariner  when  for  the 
first  time  an  unknown  ocean  rolls  before  his  eyes. 

So  he  rode  on  bravely,  filled  with  a  sense  of  daring  and 
the  thrill  of  perils  more  remote  than  Master  Carew's  alto- 
gether too  adjacent  poniard,  as  well  as  with  a  sturdy  de- 
termination to  escape  at  the  first  opportunity,  in  spite  of 
all  the  master-player's  threats. 

Up  Highgate  Hill  they  rattled  in  a  bracing  northeast 
wind,  the  rugged  country  bowling  back  against  the  tumbled 
sky.  Far  to  south  a  rusty  haze  had  gloomed  against  the 
sun  like  a  midday  fog,  mile  after  mile ;  and  suddenly,  as 
they  topped  the  range  and  cleared  the  last  low  hill,  they 
saw  a  city  in  the  south  spreading  away  until  it  seemed  to 
Nick  to  girdle  half  the  world  and  to  veil  the  sky  in  a  reek 
of  murky  sea-coal  smoke. 

"  There !"  said  Carew,  reining  in  the  gray,  as  Nick  looked 
up  and  felt  his  heart  almost  stand  still;  "since  Parma 
burned  old  Antwerp,  and  the  Low  Countries  are  dead, 
there  lies  the  market-heart  of  all  the  big  round  world ! " 

"  London ! "  cried  Nick,  and,  catching  his  breath  with  a 
quick  gasp,  sat  speechless,  staring. 

Carew  smiled.  "Ay,  Nick,"  said  he,  cheerily;  "'t  is 
London  town.  Pluck  up  thine  heart,  lad,  and  be  no  more 
cast  down ;  there  lies  a  New  World  ready  to  thine  hand. 
Thou  canst  win  it  if  thou  wilt.  Come,  let  it  be  thine 
Indies,  thou  Francis  Drake,  and  I  thy  galleon  to  carry 
i 


98  MASTER  SKYLARK 

home  the  spoils !  And  cheer  up.  It  grieves  my  heart  to 
see  thee  sad.  Be  merry  for  my  sake." 

"For  thy  sake?"  gasped  Nick,  staring  blankly  in  his 
face.  "  Why,  what  hast  thou  done  for  me  ? "  A  sudden 
sob  surprised  him,  and  he  clenched  his  fists— it  was  too 
cruel  irony.  "Why,  sir,  if  thou  wouldst  only  leave  me 
go!" 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  cried  Carew,  angrily.  "  Still  harping  on 
that  same  old  string?  Why,  from  thy  waking  face  I 
thought  thou  hadst  dropped  it  long  ago.  Let  thee  go? 
Not  for  all  the  wealth  in  Lombard  street !  Dost  think  me 
a  goose- witted  gull  ?— and  dost  ask  what  I  have  done  for 
thee  ?  Thou  simpleton !  I  have  made  thee  rise  above  the 
limits  of  thy  wildest  dream— have  shod  thy  feet  with  gold 
—have  filled  thy  lap  with  glory— have  crowned  thine  head 
with  fame !  And  yet, '  What  have  I  done  for  thee  ? '  Fie ! 
Thou  art  a  stubborn-hearted  little  fool.  But,  marry  come 
up !  I  '11  mend  thy  mind.  I  '11  bend  thy  will  to  suit  my 
way,  or  break  it  in  the  bending !  " 

Clapping  his  hand  upon  his  poniard,  he  turned  his  back, 
and  did  not  speak  to  Nick  again. 

And  so  they  came  down  the  Kentish  Town  road  through 
a  meadow-land  threaded  with  flowing  streams,  the  wild 
hill  thickets  of  Hampstead  Heath  to  right,  the  huddling 
villages  of  Islington,  Hoxton,  and  Clerkenwell  to  left.  And 
as  they  pissed  through  Kentish  Town,  past  Primrose  Hill 
into  Hampstead  way,  solitary  farm-houses  and  lowly  cot- 
tages gave  way  to  burgher  dwellings  in  orderly  array,  with 
manor-houses  here  and  there,  and  in  the  distance  palaces 


LONDON  TOWN  99 

and  towers  reared  their  heads  above  the  crowding  chini- 
ney-pots. 

Then  the  players  dressed  themselves  in  fair  array,  and 
flung  their  banners  out,  and  came  through  Smithfield  to- 
Aldersgate,  mocking  the  grim  old  gibbet  there  with  railing 
gaiety ;  and  through  the  gate  rode  into  London  town,  with 
a  long,  loud  cheer  that  brought  the  people  crowding  ta 
their  doors,  and  set  the  shutters  creaking  everywhere. 

Nick  was  bewildered  by  the  countless  shifting  gables 
and  the  throngs  of  people  flowing  onward  like  a  stream, 
and  stunned  by  the  roar  that  seemed  to  boil  out  of  the 
very  ground.  The  horses'  hoofs  clashed  on  the  unevenly 
paved  street  with  a  noise  like  a  thousand  smithies.  The 
houses  hung  above  him  till  they  almost  hid  the  sky,  and 
seemed  to  be  reeling  and  ready  to  fall  upon  his  head 
when  he  looked  up ;  so  that  he  urged  the  little  roan  with 
his  uneasy  heels,  and  wished  himself  out  of  this  monstrous 
ruck  where  the  walls  were  so  close  together  that  there 
was  not  elbow-room  to  live,  and  the  air  seemed  only  heat, 
thick  and  stifling,  full  of  dust  and  smells. 

Shop  after  shop,  and  booth  on  booth,  until  Nick  won- 
dered where  the  gardens  were ;  and  such  a  maze  of  lanes, 
byways,  courts,  blind  alleys,  and  passages  that  his  simple 
country  footpath  head  went  all  into  a  tangle,  and  he  could 
scarcely  have  told  Tottenham  Court  road  from  the  river 
Thames. 

All  that  he  remembered  afterward  was  that,  turning 
from  High  Holborn  into  the  Farringdon  road,  he  saw  a 
great  church,  under  Ludgate  Hill,  with  spire  burned  and 


100  MASTER  SKYLARK 

fallen,  and  its  massive  tower,  black  with  age  and  smoke, 
staring  on  the  town.  But  he  was  too  confused  to  know 
whither  they  went  or  what  he  saw  in  passing ;  for  of  such 
a  forest  of  houses  he  had  never  even  dreamed,  with  people 
swarming  everywhere  like  ants  upon  a  hill,  and  among 
them  all  not  one  kind  face  he  knew.  Through  the  spirit 
of  adventure  that  had  roused  him  for  a  time  welled  up  a 
great  heart-sickness  for  his  mother  and  his  home. 

Out  of  a  bewildered  daze  he  came  at  last  to  realize  this 
much :  that  the  master-player's  house  was  very  tall  and 
very  dark,  standing  in  a  dismal,  dirty  street,  and  that  it 
had  a  gloomy  hallway  full  of  shadows  that  crept  and 
wavered  along  the  wall  in  the  dim  light  of  the  late  after- 
noon. 

Then  the  master-player  pushed  him  up  a  narrow  stair- 
case and  along  a  black  corridor  to  a  door  at  the  end  of  the 
passage,  through  which  he  thrust  him  into  a  darkness  like 
night,  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him. 

Nick  heard  the  bolts  shoot  heavily,  and  Master  Carew 
call  through  the  heavy  panels:  "Now,  Jackanapes,  sit 
down  and  chew  the  cud  of  solitude  awhile.  It  may  cool 
thy  silly  pate  for  thee,  since  nothing  else  will  serve.  When 
thou  hast  found  thy  common  sense,  perchance  thou  'It  find 
thy  freedom,  not  before."  Then  his  step  went  down  the 
corridor,  down  the  stair,  through  the  long  hall— a  door 
banged  with  a  hollow  sound  that  echoed  through  the 
house,  and  all  was  still. 

At  first,  in  the  utter  darkness,  Nick  could  not  see  at  all, 
and  did  not  move  for  fear  of  falling  down  some  awful 


LONDON  TOWN  101 

hole ;  but  as  his  eyes  grew  used  to  the  gloom  he  saw  that 
he  was  in  a  little  room.  The  only  window  was  boarded 
up,  but  a  dim  light  crept  in  through  narrow  cracks  and 
made  faint  bars  across  the  air.  Little  motes  floated  up 
and  down  these  thin  blue  bars,  wavering  in  the  uncertain 
light  and  then  lost  in  the  darkness.  Upon  the  floor  was 
a  pallet  of  straw,  covered  with  a  coarse  sheet,  and  having 
a  rough  coverlet  of  sheepskin.  A  round  log  was  the  only 
pillow. 

Something  moved.  Nick,  startled,  peered  into  the 
shadows :  it  was  a  strip  of  ragged  tapestry  which  fluttered 
on  the  wall.  As  he  watched  it  flapping  fitfully  there  came 
a  hollow  rattle  in  the  wainscot,  and  an  uncanny  sound  like 
the  moaning  of  wind  in  the  chimney. 

"  Let  me  out !  "  he  cried,  beating  upon  the  door.  "  Let 
me  out,  I  say ! "  A  stealthy  footstep  seemed  to  go  away 
outside.  "  Mother,  mother !  "  he  cried  shrilly,  now  quite 
unstrung  by  fright,  and  beat  frantically  upon  the  door 
until  his  hands  ached ;  but  no  one  answered.  The  window 
was  beyond  his  reach.  Throwing  himself  upon  the  hard 
pallet,  he  hid  his  eyes  in  the  coverlet,  and  cried  as  if  his 
heart  would  break. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MA'M'SELLE  CICELY  CAKEW 

HOW  long  he  lay  there  in  a  stupor  of  despair  Nick 
Attwood  never  knew.  It  might  have  been  days 
or  weeks,  for  all  that  he  took  heed ;  for  he  was  thinking 
of  his  mother,  and  there  was  no  room  for  more. 

The  night  passed  by.  Then  the  day  came,  by  the  lines 
of  light  that  crept  across  the  floor.  The  door  was  opened 
at  his  back,  and  a  trencher  of  bread  and  meat  thrust  in. 
He  did  not  touch  it,  and  the  rats  came  out  of  the  wall  and 
pulled  the  meat  about,  and  gnawed  holes  in  the  bread, 
and  squeaked,  and  ran  along  the  wainscot ;  but  he  did  not 
care. 

The  afternoon  dragged  slowly  by,  and  the  creeping  light 
went  up  the  wall  until  the  roofs  across  the  street  shut  out 
the  sunset.  Sometimes  Nick  waked  and  sometimes  he 
slept,  he  scarce  knew  which  nor  cared ;  nor  did  he  hear 
the  bolts  grate  cautiously,  or  see  the  yellow  candle-light 
steal  in  across  the  gloom. 

"  Boy !  "  said  a  soft  little  voice. 

He  started  up  and  looked  around. 

.102 


MA'M'SELLE  CICELY  CAREW  103 

For  an  instant  he  thought  that  he  was  dreaming,  and 
was  glad  to  think  that  he  would  waken  by  and  by  from 
what  had  been  so  sad  a  dream,  and  find  himself  safe  in  his 
own  little  bed  in  Stratford  town.  For  the  little  maid  who 
stood  in  the  doorway  was  such  a  one  as  his  eyes  had  never 
looked  upon  before. 

She  was  slight  and  graceful  as  a  lily  of  the  field,  and 
her  skin  was  white  as  the  purest  wax,  save  where  a  damask 
rose-leaf  red  glowed  through  her  cheeks.  Her  black  hair 
curled  about  her  slender  neck.  Her  gown  was  crimson, 
slashed  with  gold,  cut  square  across  the  breast  and  simply 
made,  with  sleeves  just  elbow-long,  wide-mouthed,  and 
lined  with  creamy  silk.  Her  slippers,  too,  were  of  crimson 
silk,  high-heeled,  jaunty  bits  of  things ;  her  silken  stockings 
black.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  tall  brass  candlestick,  and 
through  the  fingers  of  the  other  the  candle-flame  made  a 
ruddy  glow  like  the  sun  in  the  heart  of  a  hollyhock.  And 
in  the  shadow  of  her  hand  her  eyes  looked  out,  as  Nick 
said  long  afterward,  like  stars  in  a  summer  night. 

Thinking  it  was  all  a  dream,  he  sat  and  stared  at  her. 

"  Boy !  "  she  said  again,  quite  gently,  but  with  a  quaint 
little  air  of  reproof,  "  where  are  thy  manners  ? " 

Nick  got  up  quickly  and  bowed  as  best  he  knew  how 
If  not  a  dream,  this  was  certainly  a  princess— and  per- 
chance—his heart  leaped  up— perchance  she  came  to  set 
him  free !  He  wondered  who  had  told  her  of  him  ?  Diccon 
Field,  perhaps,  whose  father  had  been  Simon  Attwood's 
partner  till  he  died,  last  Michaelmas.  Diccon  was  in 
London  now,  printing:  books,  he  had  heard.  Or  maybe  it 


104  MASTER  SKYLARK 

was  John,  Hal  Saddler's  older  brother.  No,  it  could  not 
be  John,  for  John  was  with  a  carrier ;  and  Nick  had  doubts 
if  carriers  were  much  acquainted  at  court. 

Wondering,  he  stared,  and  bowed  again. 

"Why,  boy,"  said  she,  with  a  quaint  air  of  surprise, 
"  thou  art  a  very  pretty  fellow !  Why,  indeed,  thou  look- 
est  like  a  good  boy !  Why  wilt  thou  be  so  bad  and  break 
my  father's  heart?" 

"  Break  thy  father's  heart  ? "  stammered  Nick.  "  Pr'y- 
thee,  who  is  thy  father,  Mistress  Princess  f " 

"  Nay,"  said  the  little  maid,  simply ;  "  I  am  no  princess. 
I  am  Cicely  Carew." 

"  Cicely  Carew  ? "  cried  Nick,  clenching  his  fists.  "  Art 
thou  the  daughter  of  that  wicked  man,  Gaston  Carew  ? " 

"  My  father  is  not  wicked ! "  said  she,  passionately, 
drawing  back  from  the  threshold  with  her  hand  trembling 
upon  the  latch.  "Thou  shalt  not  say  that— I  will  not 
speak  with  thee  at  all !  " 

11 1  do  na  care !  If  Master  Gaston  Carew  is  thy  father, 
he  is  the  wickedest  man  in  the  world !  " 

"  Why,  fie,  for  shame !  "  she  cried,  and  stamped  her  little 
foot.  "  How  darest  thou  say  such  a  thing  ? " 

"  He  hath  stolen  me  from  home,"  exclaimed  Nick,  indig- 
nantly ;  "  and  I  shall  never  see  my  mother  any  more ! " 
With  that  he  choked,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  arm  against 
the  wall. 

The  little  maid  looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  troubled 
surprise,  and,  coming  into  the  room,  touched  him  on  the 
arm.  "  There,"  she  said  soothingly,  "  don't  cry ! "  and 


MA'M'SELLE  CICELY  CAREW  105 

stroked  him  gently  as  one  would  a  little  dog  that  was 
hurt.  "My  father  will  send  thee  home  to  thy  mother,  I- 
know ;  for  he  is  very  kind  and  good.  Some  one  hath  lied 
to  thee  about  him." 

Nick  wiped  his  swollen  eyes  dubiously  upon  his  sleeve ; 
yet  the  little  maid  seemed  positive.  Perhaps,  after  all, 
there  was  a  mistake  somewhere. 

"Art  hungry,  boy?"  she  asked  suddenly,  spying  the 
empty  trencher  on  the  floor.  "  There  is  a  pasty  and  a  cake 
in  the  buttery,  and  thou  shalt  have  some  of  it  if  thou  wilt 
not  cry  any  more.  Come,  I  cannot  bear  to  see  thee  cry — 
it  makes  me  weep  myself ;  and  that  will  blear  mine  eyes, 
and  father  will  feel  bad." 

"  If  he  but  felt  as  bad  as  he  hath  made  me  feel—" 
began  Nick,  wrathfully;  but  she  laid  her  little  hand 
across  his  mouth.  It  was  a  very  white,  soft,  sweet  little 
hand. 

"  Come,"  said  she ;  "  thou  art  hungry,  and  it  hath  made 
thee  cross ! "  and,  with  no  more  ado,  took  him  by  the 
hand  and  led  him  down  the  corridor  into  a  large  room 
where  the  last  daylight  shone  with  a  smoky  glow. 

The  walls  were  wainscoted  with  many  panels,  dark,  old, 
and  mysterious ;  and  in  a  burnished  copper  brazier  at  the 
end  of  the  room  cinnamon,  rosemary,  and  bay  were  burn- 
ing with  a  pleasant  smell.  Along  the  walls  were  joined- 
work  chests  for  linen  and  napery,  of  brass-bound  oak— 
one  a  black,  old,  tragic  sea-chest,  carved  with  grim  faces 
and  weird  griffins,  that  had  been  cast  up  by  the  North  Sea 
from  the  wreck  of  a  Spanish  galleon  of  war.  The  floor 


106  MASTER  SKYLARK 

was  waxed  in  the  French  fashion,  and  was  so  smooth  that 
Nick  could  scarcely  keep  his  feet.  The  windows  were  high 
up  in  the  wall,  with  their  heads  among  the  black  roof- 
beams,  which  with  their  grotesquely  carven  brackets  were 
half  lost  in  the  dusk.  Through  the  windows  Nick  could 
see  nothing  but  a  world  of  chimney-pots. 

"Is  London  town  all  smoke-pipes?"  he  asked  con- 
fusedly. 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  little  maid ;  "  there  are  people." 

Pushing  a  chair  up  to  the  table,  she  bade  him  sit  down. 
Then  pulling  a  tall,  curiously-made  stool  to  the  other  side 
of  the  board,  she  perched  herself  upon  it  like  a  fairy  upon 
a  blade  of  grass.  "  Greg !  "  she  called  imperiously, "  Greg ! 
What,  how !  Gregory  Goole,  I  say !  " 

"  Yes,  ma'm'selle,"  replied  a  hoarse  voice  without ;  and 
through  a  door  at  the  further  end  of  the  room  came  the 
bandy-legged  man  with  the  bow  of  crimson  ribbon  in  his 
ear. 

Nick  turned  a  little  pale ;  and  when  the  fellow  saw  him 
sitting  there,  he  came  up  hastily,  with  a  look  like  a  crock 
of  sour  milk.  "Tut,  tut!  ma'm'selle,"  said  he;  "Master 
Carew  will  not  like  this." 

She  turned  upon  him  with  an  air  of  dainty  scorn. 
"  Since  when  hath  father  left  his  wits  to  thee,  Gregory 
Goole  ?  I  know  his  likes  as  well  as  thou— and  it  likes  him 
not  to  let  this  poor  boy  starve,  I  '11  warrant.  Go,  fetch 
the  pasty  and  the  cake  that  are  in  the  buttery,  with  a  glass 
of  cordial,— the  Certosa  cordial,— and  that  in  the  shaking 
of  a  black  sheep's  tail,  or  I  will  tell  my  father  what  thou 


MA'M'SELLE  CICELY  CAEEW  107 

hottest  of."  And  she  looked  the  very  picture  of  diminutive 
severity. 

"  Very  good,  ma'm'selle ;  just  as  ye  say,"  said  Gregory, 
fawning,  with  very  poor  grace,  however.  "  But,  knave," 
he  snarled,  as  he  turned  away,  with  a  black  scowl  at  Nick, 
"  if  thou  dost  venture  on  any  of  thy  scurvy  pranks  while 
t  be  gone,  I  '11  break  thy  pate." 

Cicely  Carew  knitted  her  brows.  "That  is  a  saucy 
rogue,"  said  she;  "but  he  hath  served  my  father  well. 
And,  what  is  much  in  London  town,  he  is  an  honest  man 
withal,  though  I  have  caught  him  at  the  Spanish  wine 
behind  my  father's  back;  so  he  doth  butter  his  tongue 
with  smooth  words  when  he  hath  speech  with  me,  for  I  am 
the  lady  of  the  house."  She  held  up  her  head  with  a  very 
pretty  pride.  "  My  mother—" 

Nick  caught  his  breath,  and  his  eyes  filled. 

"  Nay,  boy,"  said  she,  gently ;  "  't  is  I  should  weep,  not 
thou ;  for  my  mother  is  dead.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  saw 
her  that  I  know,"  she  went  on  musingly ;  "  but  she  was  a 
Frenchwoman  who  served  a  murdered  queen,  and  she  was 
the  loveliest  woman  that  ever  lived."  Cicely  clasped  her 
hands  and  moved  her  lips.  Nick  saw  that  she  was  pray- 
ing, and  bent  his  head. 

"Thou  art  a  good  boy,"  she  said  softly;  "my  father 
will  like  that";  and  then  went  quietly  on:  "That  is  why 
Gregory  Goole  doth  call  me  *  ma'm'selle  '—because  my 
mother  was  a  Frenchwoman.  But  I  am  a  right  English 
girl  for  all  that;  and  when  they  shout,  'God  save  the 
Queen  I '  at  the  play,  why,  I  do  too !  And,  oh,  boy,"  she 


108  MASTEE  SKYLAEK 

cried,  "  it  is  a  brave  thing  to  hear !  "  and  she  clapped  her 
hands  with  sparkling  eyes.  "  It  drove  the  Spaniards  off 
the  sea,  my  father  ofttimes  saith." 

"  Poh ! "  said  Nick,  stoutly,  for  he  saw  the  pasty  coming 
in,  "  they  can  na  beat  us  Englishmen !  "  and  with  that  fell 
upon  the  pasty  as  if  it  were  the  Spanish  Armada  in  one 
lump  and  he  Sir  Francis  Drake  set  on  to  do  the  job  alone. 

As  he  ate  his  spirits  rose  again,  and  he  almost  forgot 
that  he  was  stolen  from  his  home,  and  grew  eager  to  be 
seeing  the  wonders  of  the  great  town  whose  ceaseless  roar 
came  over  the  housetops  like  a  distant  storm.  He  was 
still  somewhat  in  awe  of  this  beautiful,  flower-like  little 
maid,  and  listened  in  shy  silence  to  the  wonderful  tales  she 
told :  how  that  she  had  seen  the  Queen,  who  had  red  hair, 
and  pearls  like  gooseberries  on  her  cloak;  and  how  the 
court  went  down  to  Greenwich.  But  the  bandy-legged 
man  kept  popping  his  head  in  at  the  door,  and,  after  all, 
Nick  was  but  in  a  prison-house ;  so  he  grew  quite  dismal 
after  a  while. 

"Dost  truly  think  thy  father  will  leave  me  go?"  he 
asked. 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  said  she.  "  I  cannot  see  why  thou 
dost  hate  him  so  ? " 

"Why,  truly,"  hesitated  Nick,  "perhaps  it  is  not  thy 
father  that  I  hate,  but  only  that  he  will  na  leave  me  go. 
And  if  he  would  but  leave  me  go,  perhaps  I  'd  love  him 
very  much  indeed." 

"  Good,  Nick !  thou  art  a  trump !  "  cried  Master  Carew's 
voice  suddenly  from  the  further  end  of  the  hall,  where  in 


MA'M'SELLE  CICELY  CAREW  109 

spite  of  all  the  candles  it  was  dark ;  and,  coming  forward, 
the  master-player  held  out  his  hands  in  a  most  genial  way. 
"Come,  lad,  thy  hand— 't  is  spoken  like  a  gentleman. 
Nay,  I  will  kiss  thee— for  I  love  thee,  Nick,  upon  my  word, 
and  on  the  remnant  of  mine  honour ! "  Taking  the  boy's 
half -unwilling  hands  in  his  own,  he  stooped  and  kissed 
him  upon  the  forehead. 

"Father,"  said  Cicely,  gravely,  "hast  thou  forgotten 
me?" 

"  Nay,  sweetheart,  nay,"  cried  Carew,  with  a  wonderful 
laugh  that  somehow  warmed  the  cockles  of  Nick's  forlorn 
heart ;  and  turning  quickly,  the  master-player  caught  up 
the  little  maid  and  kissed  her  again  and  again,  so  tenderly 
that  Nick  was  amazed  to  see  how  one  so  cruel  could  be  so 
kind,  and  how  so  good  a  little  maid  could  love  so  bad  a 
man ;  for  she  twined  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  then 
lay  back  with  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  purring  like  a 
kitten  in  his  arms. 

"Father,"  said  she,  patting  his  cheek,  "some  one  hath 
told  him  naughty  things  of  thee.  Come,  daddy,  say  they 
are  not  so !  " 

The  master-player's  face  turned  red  as  flame.  He 
coughed  and  looked  up  among  the  roof -beams.  "Why, 
of  course  they  're  not,"  said  he,  uneasily. 

"There,  boy!"  cried  she;  "I  told  thee  so.  Why, 
daddy,  think!— they  said  that  thou  hadst  stolen  him 
away  from  his  own  mother,  and  wouldst  not  leave  him 
go!" 

"  Hollo !  "  ejaculated  the  master-player,  abruptly,  with  a 


110  MASTER  SKYLARK 

quiver  in  his  voice ;  "  what  a  hole  thou  hast  made  in  the 
pasty,  Nick ! " 

"Ah,  daddy,"  persisted  Cicely,  "and  what  a  hole  it 
would  make  in  his  mother's  heart  if  he  had  been  stolen 
away ! " 

"  Wouldst  like  another  draught  of  cordial,  Nick  ? "  cried 
Carew,  hurriedly,  reaching  out  for  the  tall  flagon  with  a 
trembling  hand.  "  'T  is  good  to  cheer  the  troubled  heart, 
lad.  Not  that  thou  hast  any  reason  in  the  world  to  let  thy 
heart  be  troubled,"  he  added  hastily.  "  No,  indeed,  upon 
my  word ;  for  thou  art  on  the  doorstep  of  a  golden-lined 
success.  See,  Nick,  how  the  light  shines  through ! "  and 
he  tilted  up  the  flagon.  "  It  is  one  of  old  Jake  Vessaline's 
Murano-Venetian  glasses;  a  beautiful  thing,  now,  is  it 
not  ?  'T  is  good  as  any  made  abroad ! "  but  his  hand  was 
shaking  so  that  half  the  cordial  missed  the  cup  and  ran 
into  a  little  shimmering  pool  upon  the  table-top. 

"And  thou  'It  send  him  home  again,  daddy,  wilt  thou 
not?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course— why,  to  be  sure— we  '11  send  him 
anywhere  that  thou  dost  say,  Golden-heart :  to  Persia  or 
Cathay— ay,  to  the  far  side  of  the  green-cheese  moon,  or 
to  the  court  of  Tamburlaine  the  Great,"  and  he  laughed  a 
quick,  dry,  nervous  laugh  that  had  no  laughter  in  it.  "  I 
had  one  of  De  Lannoy's  red  Bohemian  bottles,  Nick,"  he 
rattled  on  feverishly ;  "  but  that  butter-fingered  rogue  "— 
he  nodded  his  head  at  the  outer  stair—"  dropped  it,  smash ! 
and  made  a  thousand  most  counterfeit  fourpences  out  of 
what  cost  me  two  pound  sterling." 


MA'M'SELLE  CICELY  CAKEW  111 

"  But  will  ye  truly  leave  me  go,  sir  ? "  faltered  Nick. 

"  Why,  of  course— to  be  sure— yes,  certainly— yes,  yes. 
But,  Nick,  it  is  too  late  this  night.  Why,  come,  thou 
couldst  not  go  to-night.  See,  't  is  dark,  and  thou  a  stranger 
in  the  town.  'T  is  far  to  Stratford  town— thou  couldst 
not  walk  it,  lad ;  there  will  be  carriers  anon.  Come,  stay 
awhile  with  Cicely  and  me— we  will  make  thee  a  right 
welcome  guest ! " 

"  That  we  will,"  cried  Cicely,  clapping  her  hands.  "  Oh, 
do  stay ;  I  am  so  lonely  here !  The  maid  is  silly,  Margot 
old,  and  the  rats  run  in  the  wall." 

"And  thou  must  to  the  theater,  my  lad,  and  sing  for 
London  town— ay,  Nicholas,"  and  Carew's  voice  rang 
proudly.  "  The  highest  heads  in  London  town  must  hear 
that  voice  of  thine,  or  I  shall  die  unshrift.  What !  lad  ?— 
come  all  the  way  from  Coventry,  and  never  show  that  face 
of  thine,  nor  let  them  hear  thy  skylark's  song?  Why, 
't  were  a  shame !  And,  Nick,  my  lord  the  Admiral  shall 
hear  thee  sing  when  he  comes  home  again ;  perchance  the 
Queen  herself.  Why,  Nick,  of  course  thou  It  sing.  Thou 
hast  not  heart  to  say  thou  wilt  not  sing— even  for  me  whom 
thou  hatest." 

Nick  smiled  in  spite  of  himself,  for  Cicely  was  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  devouring  him  with  her  great 
dark  eyes.  "  Dost  truly,  truly  sing  ? "  she  asked. 

Nick  laughed  and  blushed,  and  Carew  laughed.  "  What, 
doth  he  sing?  Why,  Nick,  come,  tune  that  skylark  note 
of  thine  for  little  Golden-heart  and  me.  'T  will  make  her 
think  she  hears  the  birds  in  verity — and,  Nick,  the  lass 


112  MASTER  SKYLARK 

hath  never  seen  a  bird  that  sang,  except  within  a  cage. 
Nay,  lad,  this  is  no  cage !  "  he  cried,  as  Nick  looked  about 
and  sighed.  "  We  will  make  it  very  home  for  thee— will 
Cicely  and  I." 

"  That  we  will ! "  cried  Cicely.  "  Come,  boy,  sing  for 
me— my  mother  used  to  sing." 

At  that  G-aston  Carew  went  white  as  a  sheet,  and  put 
his  hand  quickly  up  to  his  face.  Cicely  darted  to  his  side 
with  a  frightened  cry,  and  caught  his  hand  away.  He 
tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  a  ghastly  attempt.  "  Tush,  tush  1 
little  one ;  ?t  was  something  stung  me !  "  said  he,  huskily, 
"  Sing,  Nicholas,  I  beg  of  thee !  " 

There  was  such  a  sudden  world  of  weariness  and  sorrow 
in  his  voice  that  Nick  felt  a  pity  for  he  knew  not  what, 
and  lifting  up  his  clear  young  voice,  he  sang  the  quaint 
old  madrigal. 

Carew  sat  with  his  face  in  his  hand,  and  after  it  was 
done  arose  unsteadily  and  said,  "  Come,  Golden-heart ;  't  is 
music  such  as  charmeth  care  and  lureth  sleep  out  of  her 
dark  valley— we  must  be  trotting  off  to  bed." 

That  night  Nick  slept  upon  a  better  bed,  with  a  sheet 
and  a  blue  serge  coverlet,  and  a  pillow  stuffed  with  chaff. 

But  as  he  drifted  off  into  a  troubled  dreamland,  he 
heard  the  door-bolt  throb  into  its  socket,  and  knew  that 
he  was  fastened  in. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

CAREW'S  OFFER 

NEXT  morning  Carew  donned  his  plum-colored  cloak, 
and  with  Nick's  hand  held  tightly  in  his  own  went 
out  of  the  door  and  down  the  steps  into  a  drifting  fog 
which  filled  the  street,  the  bandy-legged  man  with  the 
ribbon  in  his  ear  following  close  upon  their  heels. 

People  passed  them  like  shadows  in  the  mist,  and  all 
the  houses  were  a  blur  until  they  came  into  a  wide,  open 
place  where  the  wind  blew  free  above  a  wall  with  many 
great  gates. 

In  the  middle  of  this  open  place  a  huge  gray  building 
stood,  staring  out  over  the  housetops— a  great  cathedral, 
wonderful  and  old.  Its  walls  were  dark  with  time  and 
smoke  and  damp,  and  the  lofty  tower  that  rose  above  it 
was  in  part  but  a  hollow  shell  split  by  lightning  and  black- 
ened by  fire.  But  crowded  between  its  massive  buttresses 
were  booths  and  chapmen's  stalls ;  against  its  hoary  side 
a  small  church  leaned  like  a  child  against  a  mother's 
breast;  and  in  and  round  about  it  eddied  a  throng  of 
men  like  ants  upon  a  busy  hill. 
"  113 


114  MASTER  SKYLARK 

All  around  the  outer  square  were  shops  with  gilded 
fronts  and  most  amazing  signs :  golden  angels  with  out- 
stretched wings,  tiger  heads,  bears,  brazen  serpents,  and 
silver  cranes;  and  in  and  out  of  the  shop-doors  darted 
apprentices  with  new-bound  books  and  fresh-printed  slips ; 
for  this  was  old  St.  Paul's,  the  meeting-place  of  London 
town,  and  in  Paul's  Yard  the  printers  and  the  bookmen 
dealt. 

With  a  deal  of  elbowing  the  master-player  came  up  the 
broad  steps  into  the  cathedral,  and  down  the  aisle  to  the 
pillars  where  the  merchant-tailors  stood  with  table-books 
in  hand,  and  there  ordered  a  brand-new  suit  of  clothes 
for  Nick  of  old  Roger  Shearman,  the  best  cloth-cutter  in 
Threadneedle  street. 

While  they  were  deep  in  silk  and  silver  thread,  Haerlem 
linen,  and  Leyden  camelot,  Nick  stared  about  him  half 
aghast ;  for  it  was  to  him  little  less  than  monstrous  to  see 
a  church  so  thronged  with  merchants  plying  their  trades 
as  if  the  place  were  no  more  sacred  than  a  booth  in  the 
public  square. 

The  long  nave  of  the  cathedral  was  crowded  with  mercers 
from  Cheapside,  drapers  from  Throgmorton  street,  sta- 
tioners from  Ludgate  Hill,  and  goldsmiths  from  Foster 
lane,  hats  on,  loud-voiced,  and  using  the  very  font  itself 
for  a  counter.  By  the  columns  beyond,  sly,  foxy-faced 
lawyers  hobnobbed;  and  on  long  benches  by  the  wall, 
cast-off  serving-men,  varlets,  grooms,  pastry-bakers,  and 
pages  sat,  waiting  to  be  hired  by  some  new  master.  Be- 
sides these  who  came  on  business  there  was  a  host  of  gal- 


CAEEWS  OFFER  115 

lants  in  gold-laced  silk  and  velvet  promenading  up  and 
down  the  aisle,  with  no  business  there  at  all  but  to  show 
their  faces  and  their  clothes.  And  all  about  were  solemn 
shrines  and  monuments  and  tombs,  and  overhead  a  splen- 
did window  burned  like  a  wheel  of  fire  in  the  eastern  wall. 

While  Nick  stared,  speechless,  a  party  of  the  Admiral's 
players  came  strolling  by,  their  heads  half  hidden  in  their 
huge  starched  ruffs,  and  with  prodigious  swords  that 
would  have  dragged  along  the  ground  had  they  not  been 
cocked  up  behind  so  fiercely  in  the  air.  Seeing  Master 
Carew  and  the  boy,  they  stopped  in  passing  to  greet  them 
gaily. 

Master  Heywood  was  there,  and  bowed  to  Nick  with  a 
kindly  smile.  His  companion  was  a  handsome,  proud- 
mouthed  man  with  a  blue,  smooth-shaven  face  and  a  jet- 
black  periwig.  Him  Carew  drew  aside  and  spoke  with  in 
an  earnest  undertone.  As  he  talked,  the  other  began  to 
stare  at  Nick  as  if  he  were  some  curious  thing  in  a  cage. 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  said  Carew,  "  ye  never  heard  the  like 
of  it.  He  hath  a  voice  as  sweet  and  clear  as  if  Puck  had 
burst  a  honey-bag  in  his  throat." 

"  No  doubt,"  replied  the  other,  carelessly ;  "  and  all  the 
birds  will  hide  their  heads  when  he  begins  to  sing.  But 
we  don't  want  him,  Carew— not  if  he  had  a  voice  like 
Miriam  the  Jew.  Henslowe  has  just  bought  little  Jem 
Bristow  of  Will  Augusten  for  eight  pound  sterling,  and 
business  is  too  bad  to  warrant  any  more." 

"  Who  spoke  of  selling  ? "  said  Carew,  sharply.  "  Don't 
flatter  your  chances  so,  Master  Alleyn.  I  would  n't  sell 


116  MASTER  SKYLARK 

the  boy  for  a  world  full  of  Jem  Bristows.  Why,  his  mouth 
is  a  mint  where  common  words  are  coined  into  gold !  Sell 
him  ?  I  think  I  see  myself  in  Bedlam  for  a  fool !  Nay, 
Master  Alleyn,  what  I  am  coming  at  is  this :  I  '11  place 
him  at  the  Rose,  to  do  his  turn  in  the  play  with  the  rest 
of  us,  or  out  of  it  alone,  as  ye  choose,  for  one  fourth  of 
the  whole  receipts  over  and  above  my  old  share  in  the 
venture.  Do  ye  take  me  ? " 

"  Take  you  ?  One  fourth  the  whole  receipts  f  Zounds ! 
man,  do  ye  think  we  have  a  spigot  in  El  Dorado  ?  " 

"Tush!  Master  Alleyn,  don't  make  a  poor  mouth; 
you  're  none  so  needy.  You  and  Henslowe  have  made  a 
heap  of  money  out  of  us  all." 

"  And  what  of  that  ?  Yesterday's  butter  won't  smooth 
to-day's  bread.  'T  is  absurd  of  you,  Carew,  to  ask  one 
fourth  and  leave  all  the  risk  on  us,  with  the  outlook  as  it 
is !  Here  's  that  fellow  Langley  has  built  a  new  play- 
house in  Paris  Garden,  nearer  to  the  landing  than  we  are, 
and  is  stealing  our  business  most  scurvily ! " 

Carew  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  And  what 's  more,  the  very  comedy  for  which  Ben 
Jonson  left  us,  because  we  would  not  put  it  on,  has  been 
taken  up  by  the  Burbages  on  Will  Shakspere's  say-so,  and 
is  running  famously  at  the  Curtain." 

"  I  told  you  so,  Master  Alleyn,  when  the  fellow  was  fresh 
from  the  Netherlands,"  said  Carew ;  "  but  your  ears  were 
plugged  with  your  own  conceit.  Young  Jonson  is  no 
flatfish,  if  he  did  lay  brick  j  he  's  a  plum  worth  anybody's 
picking." 


CAREW'S  OFFER  117 

"But,  plague  take  it,  Carew,  those  Burbages  have  all 
the  plums !  Since  they  weaned  Will  Shakspere  from  us 
everything  has  gone  wrong.  Kemp  has  left  us ;  old  John 
Lowin,  too ;  and  now  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Privy  Council 
have  soured  on  the  play  again  and  forbidden  all  playing 
on  the  Bankside,  outside  the  City  or  no." 

Carew  whistled  softly  to  himself. 

"And  since  my  Lord  Chamberlain  has  been  patron  of 
the  Burbages  he  will  not  so  much  as  turn  a  hand  to  revive 
the  old  game  of  bull-  and  bear-baiting,  and  Phil  and  I 
have  kept  the  Queen's  bulldogs  going  on  a  twelvemonth 
now  at  our  own  expense— a  pretty  canker  on  our  profits ! 
Why,  Carew,  as  Will  Shakspere  used  to  say, '  One  woe  doth 
tread  the  other's  heels,  so  fast  they  follow ! '  And  what 's 
to  do?" 

"What  's  to  do?"  said  Carew.  "Why,  I  Ve  told  ye 
what  's  to  do.  Ye  've  heard  Will  say,  '  There  is  a  tide 
leads  on  to  fortune  if  ye  take  it  at  the  flood'?  Well, 
Master  Alleyn,  here  's  the  tide,  and  at  the  flood.  I  have 
offered  you  an  argosy.  Will  ye  sail  or  stick  in  the  mud  ? 
Ye  '11  never  have  such  a  chance  again.  Come,  one  fourth 
over  my  old  share,  and  I  will  fill  your  purse  so  full  of  gold 
that  it  will  gape  like  a  stuffed  toad.  His  is  the  sweetest 
skylark  voice  that  ever  sugared  ears ! " 

"  But,  man,  man,  one  fourth !  " 

"  Better  one  fourth  than  lose  it  all,"  said  Carew.  "  But, 
pshaw !  Master  Ned  Alleyn,  I  '11  not  beg  a  man  to  swim 
that 's  bent  on  drowning !  We  will  be  at  the  play-house 
this  afternoon ;  mayhap  thou  'It  have  thought  better  of  it 


118  MASTER  SKYLARK 

by  then."  With  a  curt  bow  he  was  off  through  the  crowd, 
Nick's  hand  in  his  own  clenched  very  tight. 

They  had  hard  work  getting  down  the  steps,  for  two 
hot-headed  gallants  were  quarreling  there  as  to  who  should 
come  up  first,  and  there  was  a  great  press.  But  Carew 
scowled  and  showed  his  teeth,  and  clenched  his  poniard- 
hilt  so  fiercely  that  the  commoners  fell  away  and  let  them 
down. 

Nick's  eyes  were  hungry  for  the  printers'  stalls  where 
ballad-sheets  were  sold  for  a  penny,  and  where  the  books 
were  piled  along  the  shelves  until  he  wondered  if  all 
London  were  turned  printer.  He  looked  about  to  see  if 
he  might  chance  upon  Diccon  Field ;  but  Carew  came  so 
quickly  through  the  crowd  that  Nick  had  not  time  to 
recognize  Diccon  if  he  had  been  there.  Diccon  had  often 
made  Nick  whistles  from  the  pollard  willows  along  the 
Avon  below  the  tannery  when  Nick  was  a  toddler  in 
smocks,  and  the  lad  thought  he  would  like  to  see  him 
before  going  back  to  Stratford.  Then,  too,  his  mother 
had  always  liked  Diccon  Field,  and  would  be  glad  to  hear 
from  him.  At  thought  of  his  mother  he  gave  a  happy 
little  skip;  and  as  they  turned  into  Paternoster  Row, 
"  Master  Carew,"  said  he,  "  how  soon  shall  I  go  home  ? " 

Carew  walked  a  little  faster. 

There  had  arisen  a  sound  of  shouting  and  a  trampling 
of  feet.  The  constables  had  taken  a  purse-cutting  thief, 
and  were  coming  up  to  the  Newgate  prison  with  a  great 
rabble  behind  them.  The  fellow's  head  was  broken,  and 
his  haggard  face  was  all  screwed  up  with  pain ;  but  that 


"IHCCON  HATl  OFTEN  MADE  NICK  WHISTLES  FROM  THE  WILLOWS  ALONG  THE 
AVON  WHEN  NICK  WAS  A  TODDLEK." 


CAEEW'S  OFFER  119 

did  not  stop  the  boys  from  hooting  at  him,  and  asking  in 
mockery  how  he  thought  he  would  like  to  be  hanged  and 
to  dance  on  nothing  at  Tyburn  Hill. 

"  Did  ye  hear  me,  Master  Carew  ? "  asked  Nick. 

The  master-player  stepped  aside  a  moment  into  a  door- 
way to  let  the  mob  go  by,  and  then  strode  on. 

Nick  tried  again :  "  I  pray  thee,  sir—" 

"  Do  not  pray  me,"  said  Carew,  sharply ;  "  I  am  no  In- 
dian idol." 

"  But,  good  Master  Carew—" 

"  Nor  call  me  good— I  am  not  good." 

"  But,  Master  Carew,"  faltered  Nick,  with  a  sinking  sen- 
sation around  his  heart, "  when  will  ye  leave  me  go  home  ? " 

The  master-player  did  not  reply,  but  strode  on  rapidly, 
gnawing  his  mustache. 


CHAPTER  XVIH 

MASTER  HEYWOOD  PROTESTS 

IT  was  a  cold,  raw  day.  All  morning  long  the  snn  had 
shone  through  the  choking  fog  as  the  candle-flame 
through  the  dingy  yellow  horn  of  an  old  stable-lantern. 
But  at  noon  a  wind  sprang  up  that  drove  the  mist  through 
London  streets  in  streaks  and  strings  mixed  with  smoke 
and  the  reek  of  steaming  roofs.  Now  and  then  the  blue 
gleamed  through  in  ragged  patches  overhead ;  so  that  all 
the  town  turned  out  on  pleasure  bent,  not  minding  if  it 
rained  stewed  turnips,  so  they  saw  the  sky. 

But  the  fog  still  sifted  through  the  streets,  and  all  was 
damp  and  sticky  to  the  touch,  so  Cicely  was  left  behind 
to  loneliness  and  disappointment. 

Nick  and  the  master-player  came  down  Ludgate  Hill  to 
Blackfriars  landing  in  a  stream  of  merrymakers,  high  and 
low,  rich  and  poor,  faring  forth  to  London's  greatest 
thoroughfare,  the  Thames ;  and  as  the  river  and  the  noble 
mansions  along  the  Strand  came  into  view,  Nick's  heart 
beat  fast.  It  was  a  sight  to  stir  the  pulse. 

Far  down  the  stream,  the  grim  old  Tower  loomed  above 

120 


MASTER  HEYWOOD  PROTESTS  121 

the  drifting  mist;  and,  higher  up,  old  London  Bridge, 
lined  with  tall  houses,  stretched  from  shore  to  shore.  There 
were  towers  on  it  with  domes  and  gilded  vanes,  and  the 
river  foamed  and  roared  under  it,  strangled  by  the  piers. 
From  the  dock  at  St.  Mary  Averies  by  the  Bridge  to  Barge- 
house  stairs,  the  landing-stages  all  along  the  river-bank 
were  thronged  with  boats ;  and  to  and  fro  across  the  stream, 
wherries,  punts,  barges,  and  water-craft  of  every  kind  were 
plying  busily.  In  middle  stream  sail-boats  tugged  along 
with  creaking  sweeps,  or  brown-sailed  trading-vessels 
slipped  away  to  sea,  with  costly  freight  for  Muscovy,  Tur- 
key, and  the  Levant.  And  amid  the  countless  water-craft 
a  multitude  of  stately  swans  swept  here  and  there  like 
snow-flakes  on  the  dusky  river. 

Nick  sniffed  at  the  air,  for  it  was  full  of  strange  odors 
—the  smell  of  breweries,  of  pitchy  oakum,  Norway  tar, 
spices  from  hot  countries,  resinous  woods,  and  chilly 
whiffs  from  the  water;  and  as  they  came  out  along  the 
wharf,  there  were  brown-faced,  hard-eyed  sailors  there, 
who  had  been  to  the  New  World— wild  fellows  with  silver 
rings  in  their  ears  and  a  swaggering  stagger  in  their  pet- 
ticoated  legs.  Some  of  them  held  short,  crooked  brown 
tubes  between  their  lips,  and  puffed  great  clouds  of  pale 
brown  smoke  from  their  noses  in  a  most  amazing  way. 

Broad-beamed  Dutchmen,  too,  were  there,  and  swarthy 
Spanish  renegades,  with  sturdy  craftsmen  of  the  City 
guilds  and  stalwart  yeomen  of  the  guard  in  the  Queen's 
rich  livery. 

But  ere  Nick  had  fairly  begun  to  stare,  confused  by 


122  MASTER  SKYLARK 

snch  a  rout,  Carew  had  hailed  a  wherry,  and  they  were 
half-way  over  to  the  Southwark  side. 

Landing  amid  a  deafening  din  of  watermen  bawling 
hoarsely  for  a  place  along  the  Paris  Garden  stairs,  the 
master-player  hurried  up  the  lane  through  the  noisy 
crowd.  Some  were  faring  afoot  into  Surrey,  and  some  to 
green  St.  George's  Fields  to  buy  fresh  fruit  and  milk  from 
the  farm-houses  and  to  picnic  on  the  grass.  Some  turned 
aside  to  the  Falcon  Inn  for  a  bit  of  cheese  and  ale,  and 
others  to  the  play-houses  beyond  the  trees  and  fishing- 
ponds.  And  coming  down  from  the  inn  they  met  a  crowd 
of  players,  with  Master  Tom  Heywood  at  their  head,  frol- 
icking and  cantering  along  like  so  many  overgrown 
school-boys. 

"So  we  are  to  have  thee  with  ns  awhile?"  said  Hey- 
wood, and  put  his  arm  around  Nick's  shoulders  as  they 
trooped  along. 

"Awhile,  sir,  yes,"  replied  Nick,  nodding;  "but  I  am 
going  home  soon,  Master  Carew  says." 

"Carew,"  said  Heywood,  suddenly  turning,  "how  can 
ye  have  the  heart  ?  " 

"Come,  Heywood,"  quoth  the  master-player,  curtly, 
though  his  whole  face  colored  up,  "  I  have  heard  enough 
of  this.  Will  ye  please  to  mind  your  own  affairs  ? " 

The  writer  of  comedies  lifted  his  brows,  "  Very  well," 
he  answered  quietly ;  "  but,  lad,  this  much  for  thee,"  said 
he,  turning  to  Nick,  "  if  ever  thou  dost  need  a  friend,  Tom 
Heywood  's  one  will  never  speak  thee  false." 

"  Sir ! "  cried  Carew,  clapping  his  hand  upon  his  poniard 


MASTER  HEYWOOD  PROTESTS  123 

Heywood  looked  up  steadily.  "  How  ?  Wilt  thou  quar- 
rel with  me,  Carew  ?  What  ugly  poison  hath  been  filtered 
through  thy  wits?  Why,  thou  art  even  falser  than  I 
thought !  Quarrel  with  me,  who  took  thy  new-born  child 
from  her  dying  mother's  arms  when  thou  wert  fast  in 
Newgate  gaol?" 

Carew's  angry  face  turned  sickly  gray.  He  made  as  if 
to  speak,  but  no  sound  came.  He  shut  his  eyes  and  pushed 
out  his  hand  in  the  air  as  if  to  stop  the  voice  of  the  writer 
of  comedies. 

"  Come,"  said  Heywood,  with  deep  feeling ;  "  thou  canst 
not  quarrel  with  me  yet— nay,  though  thou  dost  try  thy 
very  worst.  It  would  be  a  sorry  story  for  my  soul  or  thine 
to  tell  to  hers." 

Carew  groaned.  The  rest  of  the  players  had  passed  on, 
and  the  three  stood  there  alone.  " Don't,  Tom,  don't!" 
he  cried. 

"  Then  how  can  ye  have  the  heart  ?"  the  other  asked  again. 

The  master-player  lifted  up  his  head,  and  his  lips  were 
trembling.  "  'T  is  not  the  heart,  Tom,"  he  cried  bitterly, 
"upon  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of  mine  honour! 
T  is  the  head  which  doeth  this.  For,  Tom,  I  cannot  leave 
him  go.  Why,  Tom,  hast  thou  not  heard  him  sing?  A 
voice  which  would  call  back  the  very  dead  that  we  have 
loved  if  they  might  only  hear.  Why,  Tom,  't  is  worth  a 
thousand  pound !  How  can  I  leave  him  go  ? " 

"  Oh,  fie  for  shame  upon  the  man  I  took  thee  for ! "  cried 
Heywood. 

"But,  Tom,"  cried  Carew,  brokenly,  "look  it  straightly 


124  MASTER  SKYLARK 

in  the  face;  I  am  no  such  player  as  I  was,— this  reckless 
life  hath  done  the  trick  for  me,  Tom, — and  here  is  ruin 
staring  Henslowe  and  Alleyn  in  the  eye.  They  cannot 
keep  me  master  if  their  luck  doth  not  change  soon ;  and 
Burbage  would  not  have  me  as  a  gift.  So,  Tom,  what  is 
there  left  to  do  ?  How  can  I  shift  without  the  boy  ?  Nay, 
Tom,  it  will  not  serve.  There  7s  Cicely— not  one  penny 
laid  by  for  her  against  a  rainy  day ;  and  I  '11  be  gone,  Tom, 
I  '11  be  gone— it  is  not  morning  all  day  long— we  cannot 
last  forever.  Nay,  I  cannot  leave  him  go ! " 

"  But,  sir,"  broke  in  Nick,  wretchedly,  holding  fast  to 
Heywood's  arm,  "  ye  said  that  I  should  go !  " 

"  Said ! "  cried  the  master-player,  with  a  bitter  smile ; 
"  why,  Nick,  I  'd  say  ten  times  more  in  one  little  minute 
just  to  hear  thee  sing  than  I  would  stand  to  in  a  month 
of  Easters  afterward.  Come,  Nick,  be  fair.  I  '11  feed  thee 
full  and  dress  thee  well  and  treat  thee  true— all  for  that 
song  of  thine." 

"  But,  sir,  my  mother—" 

"Why,  Carew,  hath  the  boy  a  mother,  too?"  cried  the 
writer  of  comedies. 

"  Now,  Heywood,  on  thy  soul,  no  more  of  this !  "  cried 
the  master-player,  with  quivering  lips.  "Ye  will  make 
me  out  no  man,  or  else  a  fiend.  I  cannot  let  the  fellow 
go— I  will  not  let  him  go."  His  hands  were  twitching, 
and  his  face  was  pale,  but  his  lips  were  set  determinedly. 
"  And,  Tom,  there 's  that  within  me  will  not  abide  even  thy 
pestering.  So  come,  no  more  of  it !  Upon  my  soul,  I  sour 
over  soon ! " 


MASTER  HEYWOOD  PROTESTS  125 

So  they  came  on  gloomily  past  the  bear-houses  and  the 
Queen's  kennels.  The  river-wind  was  full  of  the  wild  smell 
of  the  bears;  but  what  were  bears  to  poor  Nick,  whose 
last  faint  hope  that  the  master-player  meant  to  keep  hia 
word  and  send  him  home  again  was  gone  ? 

They  passed  the  Paris  Garden  and  the  tall  round  play, 
house  that  Francis  Langley  had  just  built.  A  blood-red 
banner  flaunted  overhead,  with  a  large  white  swan  painted 
thereon ;  but  Nick  saw  neither  the  play-house  nor  the 
swan ;  he  saw  only,  deep  in  his  heart,  a  little  gable-roof 
among  old  elms,  with  blue  smoke  curling  softly  up  among 
the  rippling  leaves ;  an  open  door  with  tall  pink  hollyhocks 
beside  it ;  and  in  the  door,  watching  for  him  till  he  came 
again,  his  own  mother's  face.  He  began  to  cry  silently. 

"  Nay,  Nick,  my  lad,  don't  cry,"  said  Heywood.  gently ; 
"  't  will  only  make  bad  matters  worse.  Never  is  a  weary 
while;  but  the  longest  lane  will  turn  at  last:  some  day 
thou  'It  find  thine  home  again  all  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye.  Why,  Nick,  't  is  England  still,  and  thou  an  English- 
man.  Come,  give  the  world  as  good  as  it  can  send." 

Nick  raised  his  head  again,  and,  throwing  the  hair  back 
from  his  eyes,  walked  stoutly  along,  though  the  tears  still 
trickled  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Sing  thou  my  songs,"  said  Heywood,  heartily,  "  and  I 
will  be  thy  friend— let  this  be  thine  earnest."  As  he 
spoke  he  slipped  upon  the  boy's  finger  a  gold  ring  with  a 
green  stone  in  it  cut  with  a  tall  tree :  this  was  his  seal. 

They  had  now  come  through  the  garden  to  the  Rose 
Theatre,  where  the  Lord  Admiral's  company  played ;  and 


126  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Carew  was  himself  again.  "Come,  Nicholas,"  said  he, 
half  jestingly,  "be  done  with  thy  doleful  dumps— care 
killed  a  cat,  they  say,  lad.  Why,  if  thy  hateful  looks  could 
stab,  I  'd  be  a  dead  man  forty  times.  Come,  cheer  up, 
lad,  that  I  may  know  thou  lovest  me." 

"  But  I  do  na  love  thee ! "  cried  Nick,  indignantly. 

"  Tut !  Do  not  be  so  dour.  Thou  'It  soon  be  envied  by 
ten  thousand  men.  Come,  don't  make  a  face  at  thy  good 
fortune  as  though  it  were  a  tripe  fried  in  tar.  Come,  lad, 
be  pleased ;  thou  'It  be  the  pet  of  every  high-born  dame  in 
London  town." 

"  I  'd  rather  be  my  mother's  boy,"  Nick  answered  simply. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  ROSE  PLAY-HOUSE 

fTlHE  play-house  was  an  eight-sided,  three-storied,  tower- 
JL  like  building  of  oak  and  plastered  lath,  upon  a  low 
foundation  of  yellow  brick.  Two  outside  stairways  ran 
around  the  wall,  and  the  roof  was  of  bright-red  English 
tiles  with  a  blue  lead  gutter  at  the  eaves.  There  was  a 
little  turret,  from  the  top  of  which  a  tall  ash  stave  went 
up ;  and  on  the  stave,  whenever  there  was  to  be  a  play, 
there  floated  a  great  white  flag  on  which  was  a  crimson 
rose  with  a  golden  heart,  just  like  the  one  that  Nick  with 
such  delight  had  seen  come  up  the  Oxford  road  a  few 
short  days  before. 

Under  the  stairway  was  a  narrow  door  marked  "  For  the 
Playeres  Onelie";  and  in  the  doorway  stood  a  shrewd- 
faced,  common-looking  man,  writing  upon  a  tablet  which 
he  held  in  his  hand.  There  was  a  case  of  quills  at  his 
side,  with  one  of  which  he  was  scratching  busily,  now  and 
then  prodding  the  ink-horn  at  his  girdle.  He  held  his 
tongue  in  his  cheek,  and  moved  his  head  about  as  the  pen 

127 


128  MASTER  SKYLAKK 

formed  the  letters :  he  was  no  expert  penman,  this  Phil 
Henslowe,  the  stager  of  plays. 

He  looked  up  as  they  came  to  the  step. 

"  A  poor  trip,  Carew,"  said  he,  running  his  finger  down 
the  column  of  figures  he  was  adding.  "The  play  was 
hardly  worth  the  candle— cleared  but  five  pound ;  and  then, 
after  I  had  paid  the  carman  three  shilling  fip  to  bring  the 
stuff  down  from  the  City,  't  was  lost  in  the  river  from  the 
barge  at  Paul's  wharf !  A  good  two  pound." 

"  Hard  luck !  "  said  Carew. 

"  Hard  ?  Adamantine,  I  say !  Why,  't  is  very  stones 
for  luck,  and  the  whole  road  rocky !  Here  's  Burbage, 
Condell,  and  Will  Shakspere  ha'  rebuilt  Blackfriars  play- 
house in  famous  shape ;  and,  marry,  where  are  we  ? " 

Nick  started.  An  idea  came  creeping  into  his  head. 
Will  Shakspere  had  married  his  mother's  own  cousin,  Anne 
Hathaway  of  Shottery ;  and  he  had  often  heard  his  mother 
say  that  Master  Shakspere  had  ever  been  her  own  good 
friend  when  they  were  young. 

"  He  and  Jonson  be  thick  as  thieves,"  said  Henslowe  j 
"  and  Chettle  says  that  Will  hath  near  done  the  book  of  a 
new  play  for  the  autumn— a  master  fine  thing ! — '  Romulus 
and  Juliana/  or  something  of  that  Italian  sort,  to  follow 
Ben  Jonson's  comedy.  Ned  Alleyn  played  a  sweet  fool 
about  Ben's  comedy.  Called  it  monstrous  bad ;  and  now 
it  has  taken  the  money  out  of  our  mouths  to  the  tune  of 
nine  pound  six  the  day— and  here,  while  ye  were  gone,  I 
ha'  played  my  Lord  of  Pembroke's  men  in  your  'Robin 
Hood,'  Heywood,  to  scant  twelve  shilling  in  the  house ! " 


THE  ROSE  PLAY-HOUSE  129 

Heywood  flushed. 

"  Nay,  Tom,  don't  be  nettled ;  't  is  not  the  fault  of  thy 
play.  There  's  naught  will  serve.  We  've  tried  old  Mar- 
lowe and  Robin  Greene,  Peele,  Nash,  and  all  the  rest ;  but, 
what !  they  will  not  do— 't  is  Shakspere,  Shakspere ;  our 
City  flat-caps  will  ha'  nothing  but  Shakspere ! " 

Nick  listened  eagerly.  Master  Will  Shakspere  must 
indeed  be  somebody  in  London  town !  He  stared  across 
into  the  drifting  cloud  of  mist  and  smoke  which  hid  the 
city  like  a  pall,  and  wondered  how  and  where,  in  that  ter- 
rible hive  of  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  men,  he  could 
find  one  man. 

"  I  tell  thee,  Tom  Heywood,  there  's  some  magic  in  the 
fellow,  or  my  name  's  not  Henslowe ! "  cried  the  manager. 
"  His  very  words  bewitch  one's  wits  as  nothing  else  can  do. 
Why,  I  've  tried  them  with  'Pierce  Penniless/  'Groat's 
Worth  of  Wit/  ' Friar  Bacon/  'Orlando/  and  the  'Battle 
of  Alcazar.'  Why,  tush !  they  will  not  even  listen !  And 
here  I  Ve  put  Martin  Gosset  into  purple  and  gold,  and 
Jemmy  Donstall  into  a  peach-colored  gown  laid  down  with 
silver-gilt,  for  'Volteger';  and  what?  Why,  we  play  to 
empty  stools ;  and  the  rascals  owe  me  for  those  costumes 
yet— sixty  shillings  full!  A  murrain  on  Burbage  and 
Will  Shakspere  too !  —but  I  wish  we  had  him  back  again. 
We  'd  make  their  old  Blackfriars  sick ! "  He  shook  his 
fist  at  a  great  gray  pile  of  buildings  that  rose  above  the 
rest  out  of  the  fog  by  the  landing-place  beyond  the  river. 

Nick  stared.  That  the  play-house  of  Master  Shakspere 
and  the  Burbages?  Will  Shakspere  playing  there,  just 


130  MASTER  SKYLARK 

across  the  river?  Oh,  if  Nick  could  only  find  him,  he 
would  not  let  the  son  of  his  wife's  own  cousin  be  stolen 
away! 

Nick  looked  around  quickly. 

The  play-house  stood  a  bowshot  from  the  river,  in  the 
open  fields.  There  was  a  moated  manor-house  near  by, 
and  beyond  it  a  little  stream  with  some  men  fishing.  Be- 
tween the  play-house  and  the  Thames  were  gardens  and 
trees,  and  a  thin  fringe  of  buildings  along  the  bank  by  the 
landings.  It  was  not  far,  and  there  were  places  where  one 
could  get  a  boat  every  fifty  yards  or  so  at  the  Bankside. 

But—"  Come  in,  come  in,"  said  Henslowe.  "  Growling 
never  fed  a  dog ;  and  we  must  be  doing." 

"Go  ahead,  Nick,"  said  Carew,  pushing  him  by  the 
shoulder,  and  they  all  went  in.  The  door  opened  on  a 
flight  of  stairs  leading  to  the  lowest  gallery  at  the  right  of 
the  stage,  where  the  orchestra  sat.  A  man  was  tuning  up 
a  viol  as  they  came  in. 

"I  want  you  to  hear  this  boy  sing,"  said  Carew  to 
Henslowe.  "  'T  is  the  best  thing  ye  ever  lent  ear  to." 

"Oh,  this  is  the  boy?"  said  the  manager,  staring  at 
Nick.  "  Why,  Alleyn  told  me  he  was  a  country  gawk !  " 

"He  lied,  then,"  said  Carew,  very  shortly.  "'T  was 
cheaper  than  the  truth  at  my  price.  There,  Nick,  go  look 
about  the  place— we  have  business." 

Nick  went  slowly  along  the  gallery.  His  hands  were 
beginning  to  tremble  as  he  put  them  out  touching  the 
stools.  Along  the  rail  were  ornamental  columns  which 
supported  the  upper  galleries  and  looked  like  beautiful 


THE  EOSE  PLAY-HOUSE  131 

blue-veined  white  marble ;  but  when  he  took  hold  of  them 
to  steady  himself  he  found  they  were  only  painted  wood. 

There  were  two  galleries  above.  They  ran  all  around 
the  inside  of  the  building,  like  the  porches  of  the  inn  at 
Coventry,  and  he  could  see  them  across  the  house.  There 
were  no  windows  in  the  gallery  where  he  was,  but  there 
were  some  in  the  second  one.  They  looked  high.  He  went 
on  around  the  gallery  until  he  came  to  some  steps  going 
down  into  the  open  space  in  the  center  of  the  building. 
The  stage  was  already  set  up  on  the  trestles,  and  the  car- 
penters were  putting  a  shelter-roof  over  it  on  copper-gilt 
pillars ;  for  it  was  beginning  to  drizzle,  and  the  middle  of 
the  play-house  was  open  to  the  sky. 

The  spectators  were  already  coming  into  the  pit  at  a 
penny  apiece,  although  the  play  would  not  begin  until 
early  evening.  Those  for  the  galleries  paid  another  penny 
to  a  man  in  a  red  cloak  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  where 
Nick  was  standing.  There  was  a  great  uproar  at  the  en- 
trance. Some  apprentices  had  caught  a  cutpurse  in  the 
crowd,  and  were  beating  him  unmercifully.  Every  one 
pushed  and  shoved  about,  cursing  the  thief,  and  those 
near  enough  kicked  and  struck  him. 

Nick  looked  back.  Carew  and  the  manager  had  gone 
into  the  tiring-room  behind  the  stage.  He  took  hold  of 
the  side-rail  and  started  down  the  steps.  The  man  in  the 
red  cloak  looked  up.  "  Go  back  there,"  said  he,  sharply ; 
"  there  's  enough  down  here  now."  Nick  went  on  around 
the  gallery. 

At  the  back  of  the  stage  were  two  doors  for  the  players, 


132  MASTER  SKYLARK 

and  between  them  hung  a  painted  cloth  or  arras  behind 
which  the  prompter  stood.  Over  these  doors  were  two 
plastered  rooms,  twopenny  private  boxes  for  gentlefolk. 
In  one  of  them  were  three  young  men  and  a  beautiful 
girl,  wonderfully  dressed.  The  men  were  speaking  to  her, 
but  she  looked  down  at  Nick  instead.  "  What  a  pretty 
boy ! "  she  said,  and  tossed  him  a  flower  that  one  of  the 
men  had  just  given  her.  It  fell  at  Nick's  feet.  He  started 
back,  looking  up.  The  girl  smiled,  so  he  took  off  his  cap 
and  bowed ;  but  the  men  looked  sour. 

At  the  side  of  the  stage  was  a  screen  with  long  leather 
fire-buckets  and  a  pole-ax  hanging  upon  it,  and  behind  it 
was  a  door  through  which  Nick  saw  the  river  and  the  gray 
walls  of  the  old  Dominican  friary.  As  he  came  down  to 
it,  some  one  thrust  out  a  staff  and  barred  the  way.  It 
was  the  bandy-legged  man  with  the  ribbon  in  his  ear. 
Nick  looked  out  longingly ;  it  seemed  so  near ! 

"  Master  Carew  saith  thou  art  not  to  stir  outside— dost 
hear  ? "  said  the  bandy-legged  man. 

"  Ay,"  said  Nick,  and  turned  back. 

There  was  a  narrow  stairway  leading  to  the  second 
gallery.  He  went  up  softly.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
gallery,  and  there  was  a  window  on  the  side  next  to  the 
river;  he  had  seen  it  from  below.  He  went  toward  it 
slowly  that  he  might  not  arouse  suspicion.  It  was  above 
his  head. 

There  were  stools  for  hire  standing  near.  He  brought 
one  and  set  it  under  the  window.  It  stood  unevenly  upon 
the  floor,  and  made  a  wabbling  noise.  He  was  afraid 


'NICK  PUT  ONE  LEG  OVBE  THE  SILL  AND  LOOKED  BACK' 


THE  ROSE  PLAY-HOUSE  133 

some  one  would  hear  him ;  but  the  apprentices  in  the  pit 
were  rattling  dice,  and  two  or  three  gentlemen's  pages 
were  wrangling  for  the  best  places  on  the  platform ;  while, 
to  add  to  the  general  riot,  two  young  gallants  had  brought 
gamecocks  and  were  fighting  them  in  one  corner,  amid 
such  a  whooping  and  swashing  that  one  could  hardly  have 
heard  the  skies  fall. 

A  printer's  man  was  bawling,  "Will  ye  buy  a  new 
book  ? "  and  the  fruit-sellers,  too,  were  raising  such  a  cry 
of  "  Apples,  cherries,  cakes,  and  ale !  "  that  the  little  noise 
Nick  might  make  would  be  lost  in  the  wild  confusion. 

Master  Carew  and  the  manager  had  not  come  out  of  the 
tiring-room.  Nick  got  up  on  the  stool  and  looked  out. 
It  was  not  very  far  to  the  ground— not  so  far  as  from  the 
top  of  the  big  haycock  in  Master  John  Combe's  field  from 
which  he  had  often  jumped. 

The  sill  was  just  breast-high  when  he  stood  upon  the 
stool.  Putting  his  hands  upon  it,  he  gave  a  little  spring, 
and  balanced  on  his  arms  a  moment.  Then  he  put  one 
leg  over  the  window-sill  and  looked  back.  No  one  was 
paying  the  slightest  attention  to  him.  Over  all  the  noise 
he  could  hear  the  man  tuning  the  viol.  Swinging  himself 
out  slowly  and  silently,  with  his  toes  against  the  wall  to 
steady  him,  he  hung  down  as  far  as  he  could,  gave  a  little 
push  away  from  the  house  with  his  feet,  caught  a  quick 
breath,  and  dropped. 


CHAPTER  XX 

DISAPPOINTMENT 

ICK  landed  upon  a  pile  of  soft  earth.  It  broke  away 
under  his  feet  and  threw  him  forward  upon  his 
hands  and  knees.  He  got  up,  a  little  shaken  but  unhurt, 
and  stood  close  to  the  wall,  looking  all  about  quickly.  A 
party  of  gaily  dressed  gallants  were  haggling  with  the 
horse-boys  at  the  sheds ;  but  they  did  not  even  look  at 
him.  A  passing  carter  stared  up  at  the  window,  measur- 
ing the  distance  with  his  eye,  whistled  incredulously,  and 
trudged  on, 

Nick  listened  a  moment,  but  heard  only  the  clamor  of 
voices  inside,  and  the  zoon,  zoon,  zoon  of  the  viol.  He 
was  trembling  all  over,  and  his  heart  was  beating  like  a 
trip-hammer.  He  wanted  to  run,  but  was  fearful  of  ex- 
citing suspicion.  Heading  straight  for  the  river,  he 
walked  as  fast  as  he  could  through  the  gardens  and  the 
trees,  brushing  the  dirt  from  his  hose  as  he  went. 

There  was  a  wherry  just  pushing  out  from  Old  Mari- 
gold stairs  with  a  single  passenger,  a  gardener  with  ? 
basket  of  truck. 

134 


DISAPPOINTMENT  135 

"  Holloa ! "  cried  Nick,  hurrying  down  j  "  will  ye  take 
me  across  ? " 

"  For  thrippence,"  said  the  boatman,  hauling  the  wherry 
alongside  again  with  his  hook, 

Thrippence  ?  Nick  stopped,  dismayed.  Master  Carew 
had  his  gold  rose-noble,  and  he  had  not  thought  of  the 
fare.  They  would  soon  find  that  he  was  gone. 

"  Oh,  I  must  be  across,  sir !  "  he  cried.  "  Can  ye  na  take 
me  free  ?  I  be  little  and  not  heavy ;  and  I  will  help  the 
gentleman  with  his  basket." 

The  boatman's  only  reply  was  to  drop  his  hook  and 
push  off  with  the  oar. 

But  the  gardener,  touched  by  the  boy's  pitiful  expres- 
sion, to  say  nothing  of  being  tickled  by  Nick's  calling 
him  gentleman,  spoke  up :  "  Here,  jack-sculler,"  said  he ; 
"  I  '11  toss  up  wi'  thee  for  it."  He  pulled  a  groat  from  his 
pocket  and  began  spinning  it  in  the  air.  "Come,  thou 
lookest  a  gamesome  fellow— cross  he  goes,  pile  he  stays; 
best  two  in  three  flips— what  sayst?" 

"  Done !  "  said  the  waterman.     "  Pop  her  up !  * 

Up  went  the  groat. 

Nick  held  his  breath. 

"  Pile  it  is,"  said  the  gardener.  "  One  for  thee— and  up 
she  goes  again ! "  The  groat  twirled  in  the  air  and  came 
down  clink  upon  the  thwart. 

"  Aha !  "  cried  the  boatman,  "  't  is  mine,  or  I  'm  a  horse ! " 

"Nay,  jack-sculler,"  laughed  the  gardener ;  "  cross  it  is ! 
Ka  me,  ka  thee,  my  pretty  groat— I  never  lose  with  this 
groat." 


136  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Oh,  sir,  do  be  brisk ! "  begged  Nick,  fearing  every  in- 
stant  to  see  the  master-player  and  the  bandy-legged  man 
come  running  down  the  bank. 

"More  haste,  worse  speed,"  said  the  gardener;  "only 
evil  weeds  grow  fast ! "  and  he  rubbed  the  groat  on  his 
jerkin.  "  Now,  jack-sculler,  hold  thy  breath ;  for  up  she 
goes  again ! n 

A  man  came  running  over  the  rise.  Nick  gave  a  little 
frightened  cry.  It  was  only  a  huckster's  knave  with  a 
roll  of  fresh  butter.  The  groat  came  down  with  a  splash 
in  the  bottom  of  the  wherry.  The  boatman  picked  it  up 
out  of  the  water  and  wiped  it  with  his  sleeve.  "Here, 
boy,  get  aboard,"  said  he,  shoving  off;  "and  be  lively 
about  it ! " 

The  huckster's  knave  came  running  down  the  landing. 
He  pushed  Nick  aside,  and  scrambled  into  the  wherry, 
puffing  for  breath.  The  boat  fell  off  into  the  current. 
Nick,  making  a  plunge  for  it  into  the  water,  just  managed 
to  catch  the  gunwale  and  get  aboard,  wet  to  the  knees. 
But  he  did  not  care  for  that;  for  although  there  were 
people  going  up  Paris  Garden  lane,  and  a  crowd  about 
the  entrance  of  the  Rose,  he  could  not  see  Master  Carew 
or  the  bandy-legged  man  anj^where.  So  he  breathed  a 
little  freer,  yet  kept  his  eyes  fast  upon  the  play-house 
until  the  wherry  bumped  against  Blackfriars  stairs. 

Picking  up  the  basket  of  truck,  he  sprang  ashore,  and, 
dropping  it  upon  the  landing,  took  to  his  heels  up  the  bank, 
without  stopping  to  thank  either  gardener  or  boatman. 

The  gray  walls  of  the  old  friary  were  just  ahead,  scarcely 


DISAPPOINTMENT  137 

a  stone's  throw  from  the  river.  With  heart  beating  high, 
he  ran  along  the  close,  looking  eagerly  for  the  entrance. 
He  came  to  a  wicket-gate  that  was  standing  half  ajar,  and 
went  through  it  into  the  old  cloisters. 

Everything  there  was  still.  He  was  glad  of  that,  for 
the  noise  and  the  rush  of  the  crowd  outside  confused  him. 

The  place  had  once  been  a  well-kept  garden-plot,  but 
now  was  become  a  mere  stack  of  odds  and  ends  of  boards 
and  beams,  shavings,  mortar,  and  broken  brick.  A  long- 
legged  fellow  with  a  green  patch  over  one  eye  was  build- 
ing a  pair  of  stairs  to  a  door  beside  which  a  sign  read : 
"  Playeres  Here :  None  Elles." 

Nick  doffed  his  cap.  "  Good-day,"  said  he ;  "  is  Master 
Will  Shakspere  in  ?  " 

The  man  put  down  his  saw  and  sat  back  upon  one  of 
the  trestles,  staring  stupidly.  "  Didst  za-ay  zummat  ? " 

"  I  asked  if  Master  Will  Shakspere  was  in  ? " 

The  fellow  scratched  his  head  with  a  bit  of  shaving. 
*  Noa ;  Muster  Wull  Zhacksper  beant  in." 

Nick's  heart  stopped  with  a  thump.  "  Where  is  he— do 
ye  know  ?  " 

"  A  's  gone  awa-ay,"  drawled  the  workman,  vaguely. 

"Away?    Whither?" 

"A  's  gone  to  Ztratvoard  to-own,  whur  's  woife  do  li-ive 
—went  a-yesterday." 

Nick  sat  blindly  down  upon  the  other  trestle.  He  did 
not  put  his  cap  on  again :  he  had  quite  forgotten  it. 

Master  Will  Shakspere  gone  to  Stratford— and  only  the 
day  before ! 


138  MASTER  SKYLAEK 

Too  late— just  one  little  day  too  late !  It  seemed  like 
cruel  mockery.  Why,  he  might  be  almost  home !  The 
thought  was  more  than  he  could  bear:  who  could  be 
brave  in  the  face  of  such  a  blow  ?  The  bitter  tears  ran 
down  his  face  again. 

"  Here,  here,  odzookens,  lad ! "  grinned  the  workman, 
stolidly,  "thou  'It  vetch  t'  river  up  if  weeps  zo  ha-ard. 
Ztop  un,  ztop  un ;  do  now." 

Nick  sat  staring  at  the  ground.  A  beetle  was  trying 
to  crawl  over  a  shaving.  It  was  a  curly  shaving,  and  as 
fast  as  the  beetle  crept  up  to  the  top  the  shaving  rolled 
over,  and  dropped  the  beetle  upon  its  back  in  the  dust ; 
but  it  only  got  up  and  tried  again.  Nick  looked  up. 
"  Is— is  Master  Richard  Burbage  here,  then  ? " 

Perhaps  Burbage,  who  had  been  a  Stratford  man,  would 
help  him. 

"  Noa,"  drawled  the  carpenter ;  "  Muster  Bubbage  beant 
here ;  doan't  want  un,  nuther— nuwer  do  moind  a's  owen 
business— always  jawin'  volks.  A  beant  here,  an'  doan't 
want  un,  nuther." 

Nick's  heart  went  down.     "  And  where  is  he  ? " 

"Who?  Muster  Bubbage?  Whoy,  a  be-eth  out  to 
Zhoreditch,  a-playin'  at  t'  theater." 

"  And  where  may  Shoreditch  be  ? " 

"  Whur  be  Zhoreditch  ? "  gaped  the  workman,  vacantly. 
"Whoy — whoy,  zuminers  over  there  a  bit  yon,  zure"; 
and  he  waved  his  hand  about  in  a  way  that  pointed  to 
nowhere  at  all. 

"  When  will  he  be  back  ? "  asked  Nick,  desperately. 


DISAPPOINTMENT  139 

"  Be  ba-ack  ? "  drawled  the  workman,  slowly  taking  up 
his  saw  again;  "back  whur?— here?  Whoy,  a  wun't 
pla-ay  here  no  mo-ore  avore  next  Martlemas." 

Martinmas  ?  That  was  almost  mid-November.  It  was 
now  but  middle  May. 

Nick  got  up  and  went  out  at  the  wicket-gate.  He  was 
beginning  to  feel  sick  and  a  little  faint.  The  rush  in  the 
street  made  him  dizzy,  and  the  sullen  roar  that  came 
down  on  the  wind  from  the  town,  mingled  with  the  tramp- 
ing of  feet,  the  splash  of  oars,  the  bumping  of  boats  along 
the  wharves,  and  the  shouts  and  cries  of  a  thousand  voices, 
stupefied  him. 

He  was  standing  there  motionless  in  the  narrow  way, 
as  if  dazed  by  a  heavy  fall,  when  Gaston  Carew  came  run- 
ning up  from  the  river-front,  with  the  bandy-legged  man 
at  his  heels. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"THE  CHILDREN  OF  PAUL'S" 

AN  old  gray  rat  came  out  of  its  hole,  ran  swiftly  across 
XJL.  the  floor,  and,  sitting  up,  crouched  there,  peering  at 
Nick.  He  thought  its  bare,  scaly  tail  was  not  a  pleasant 
thing  to  see ;  yet  he  looked  at  it,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  his  chin  in  his  hands. 

He  had  been  locked  in  for  two  days  now.  They  had 
put  in  plenty  of  food,  and  he  had  eaten  it  all ;  for  if  he 
starved  to  death  he  would  certainly  never  get  home. 

It  was  quite  warm,  and  the  boards  had  been  taken  from 
the  window,  so  that  there  was  plenty  of  light.  The  win- 
dow faced  the  north,  and  in  the  night,  wakened  by  some 
outcry  in  the  street  below,  Nick  had  leaned  his  log-pillow 
against  the  wainscot,  and,  climbing  up,  looked  out  into  the 
sky.  It  was  clear,  for  a  wonder,  and  the  stars  were  very 
bright.  The  moon,  like  a  smoky  golden  platter,  rose 
behind  the  eastern  towers  of  the  town,  and  in  the  north 
hung  the  Great  Wain  pointing  at  the  polar  star. 

Somewhere  underneath  those  stars  was  Stratford.  The 
throstles  would  be  singing  in  the  orchard  there  now,  when 

140 


"THE  CHILDREN  OF  PAUL'S"  141 

the  sun  was  low  and  the  cool  wind  came  up  from  the 
river  with  a  little  whispering  in  the  lane.  The  purple- 
gray  doves,  too,  would  be  cooing  softly  in  the  elms  over 
the  cottage  gable.  In  fancy  he  heard  the  whistle  of  their 
wings  as  they  flew.  But  all  the  sound  that  came  hi  over 
the  roofs  of  London  town  was  a  hollow  murmur  as  from 
a  kennel  of  surly  hounds. 

"Nick!— oh,  Nick!" 

Cicely  Carew  was  calling  at  the  door.  The  rat  scurried 
off  to  its  hole  in  the  wall. 

"What  there,  Nick!  Art  thou  within?"  Cicely  called 
again ;  but  Nick  made  no  reply. 

"  Nick,  dear  Nick,  art  crying  ?  " 

" No,"  said  he ;  "I  'm  not." 

There  was  a  short  silence. 

" Nick,  I  say,  wilt  thou  be  good  if  I  open  the  door?" 

"No." 

"  Then  I  will  open  it  anyway ;  thou  durst  n't  be  bad  to 
me! " 

The  bolts  thumped,  and  then  the  heavy  door  swung 
slowly  back. 

"  Why,  where  art  thou  ? " 

He  was  sitting  in  the  corner  behind  the  door. 

"  Here,"  said  he. 

She  came  in,  but  he  did  not  look  up. 

"Nick,"  she  asked  earnestly,  "why  wilt  thou  be  so  bad, 
and  try  to  run  away  from  my  father  ? " 

"  I  hate  thy  father !  "  said  he,  and  brought  his  fist  down 
upon  his  knee. 


142  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Hate  him  ?    Oh,  Nick !     Why  ? n 

11  If  thou  be  asking  whys,"  said  Nick,  bitterly,  "  why  did 
he  steal  me  away  from  my  mother  ? " 

"Oh,  surely,  Nick,  that  cannot  be  true— no,  no,  it  can- 
not  be  true.  Thou  hast  forgotten,  or  thou  hast  slept  too 
hard  and  had  bad  dreams.  My  father  would  not  steal  a 
pin.  It  was  a  nightmare.  Doth  thine  head  hurt  thee  ? " 
She  came  over  and  stroked  his  forehead  with  her  cool 
hand.  She  was  a  graceful  child,  and  gentle  in  all  her 
ways.  "  I  am  sorry  thou  dost  not  feel  well,  Nick.  But 
my  father  will  come  presently,  and  he  will  heal  thee  soon. 
Don't  cry  any  more." 

"I  'm  not  crying,"  said  Nick,  stoutly,  though  as  he 
spoke  a  tear  ran  down  his  cheek,  and  fell  upon  his  hand. 

"Then  it  is  the  roof  leaks,"  she  said,  looking  up  as  if 
she  had  not  seen  his  tear-blinded  eyes.  "  But  cheer  up, 
Nick,  and  be  a  good  boy— wilt  thou  not?  'T  is  dinner- 
time, and  thy  new  clothes  have  come;  and  thou  art  to 
come  down  now  and  try  them  on." 

When  Nick  came  out  of  the  tiring-room  and  found  the 
master-player  come,  he  knew  not  what  to  say  or  do. 
"Oh,  brave,  brave,  brave!"  cried  Cicely,  and  danced 
around  him,  clapping  her  hands.  "Why,  it  is  a  very 
prince— a  king!  Oh,  Nick,  thou  art  most  beautiful  to 
see! " 

And  Master  Carew's  own  eyes  sparkled ;  for  truly  it  was 
a  pleasant  sight  to  see  a  fair  young  lad  like  Nick  in  such 
attire. 

There  was  a  fine  white  shirt  of  Holland  linen,  and  long 


u 


"'OH,  NICK,  THOU  AET  MOST  BEAUTIFUL  TO  8KB!  '  CRIED  CICELY." 


"THE  CHILDEEN  OF  PAUL'S"  143 

hose  of  grayish  blue,  with  puffed  and  slashed  trunks  of 
velvet  so  blue  as  to  be  almost  black.  The  sleeveless  jerkin 
was  of  the  same  dark  color,  trellised  with  roses  embroidered 
in  silk,  and  loose  from  breast  to  broad  lace  collar  so  that 
the  waistcoat  of  dull  gold  silk  beneath  it  might  show.  A 
cloak  of  damask  with  a  silver  clasp,  a  buff-leather  belt 
with  a  chubby  purse  hung  to  it  by  a  chain,  tan-colored 
slippers,  and  a  jaunty  velvet  cap  with  a  short  white  plume, 
completed  the  array.  Everything,  too,  had  been  laid 
down  with  perfume,  so  that  from  head  to  foot  he  smelt  as 
sweet  and  clean  as  a  drift  of  rose-mallows. 

"  My  soul ! "  cried  Carew,  stepping  back  and  snapping 
his  fingers  with  delight.  "  Thou  art  the  bravest  skylark 
that  ever  broke  a  shell !  Fine  feathers— fine  bird— my 
soul,  how  ye  do  set  each  other  off !  "  He  took  Nick  by 
the  shoulders,  twirled  him  around,  and,  standing  off  again, 
stared  at  him  like  a  man  who  has  found  two  pound  ster- 
ling in  a  cast-off  coat. 

"  I  can  na  pay  for  them,  sir,"  said  Nick,  slowly. 

"  There  's  nought  to  pay— it  is  a  gift." 

Nick  hung  his  head,  much  troubled.  What  could  he 
say;  what  could  he  think?  This  man  had  stolen  him 
from  home,— ay,  made  him  tremble  for  his  very  life  a 
dozen  times,— and  with  his  whole  heart  he  knew  he  hated 
him— yet  here,  a  gift ! 

"  Yes,  Nick,  it  is  a  gift— and  all  because  I  love  thee,  lad." 

"  Love  me  I " 

"  Why,  surely !  Who  could  see  thee  without  liking,  or 
hear  thy  voice  and  not  love  thee?  Love  thee,  Nickt 


144  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Why,  on  my  word  and  honour,  lad,  I  love  thee  with  all 
my  heart." 

"Thou  hast  chosen  strange  ways  to  show  it,  Master 
Carew,"  said  Nick,  and  looked  straight  up  into  the  master 
player's  eyes. 

Carew  turned  upon  his  heel  and  ordered  the  dinner. 

It  was  a  good  dinner:  fat  roast  capon  stuffed  with 
spiced  carrots;  asparagus,  biscuit,  barley-cakes,  and 
honey ;  and  to  end  with,  a  flaky  pie,  and  Spanish  cordial 
sprinkled  with  burnt  sugar.  With  such  fare  and  a  keen 
appetite,  a  marvelous  brand-new  suit  of  clothes,  and  Cicely 
chattering  gaily  by  his  side,  Nick  could  not  be  sulky  or 
doleful  long.  He  was  soon  laughing ;  and  Carew's  spirits 
seemed  to  rise  with  the  boy's. 

"  Here,  here ! "  he  cried,  as  Nick  was  served  the  third 
time  to  the  pie;  "art  hollow  to  thy  very  toes?  Why, 
thou  'It  eat  us  out  of  house  and  home— hey,  Cicely? 
Marry  come  up,  I  think  I  'd  best  take  Ned  Alleyn's  five 
shillings  for  thine  hire,  after  all !  What !  Five  shillings  ? 
Set  me  in  earth  and  bowl  me  to  death  with  boiled  turnips ! 
—do  they  think  to  play  bob-fool  with  me  ?  Five  shillings ! 
A  fico  for  their  five  shillings— and  this  for  them !  "  and  he 
squeezed  the  end  of  his  thumb  between  his  fingers. 
"  Cicely,  what  dost  think  ?— Phil  Henslowe  had  the  face 
to  match  Jem  Bristow  with  our  Nick !  " 

"  Why,  daddy,  Jem  hath  a  face  like  a  halibut ! " 

"And  a  voice  like  a  husky  crow.  Why,  Nick's  mere 
shadow  on  the  stage  is  worth  a  ton  of  Jemmy  Bristows. 
T  was  casting  pearls  before  swine,  Nick,  to  offer  thee  to 


"THE  CHILDREN  OF  PAUL'S''  145 

Heuslowe  and  Alleyn  j  but  we  Ve  found  a  better  trough 
than  theirs— hey,  Cicely  Goldenheart,  have  n't  we  T  Thou 
art  to  be  one  of  Paul's  boys." 

"Paul  who?" 

Carew  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed.  "  Paul  who  ? 
Why,  Saint  Paul,  Nick,— 't  is  Paul's  Cathedral  boys  I 
mean.  Marry,  what  dost  say  to  that  ? n 

"  I  'd  like  another  barley-cake." 

"You  'd  whatf"  cried  the  master-player,  letting  the 
front  legs  of  his  chair  come  down  on  the  floor  with  a 
thump. 

"  I  'd  like  another  barley-cake,"  said  Nick,  quietly,  help- 
ing himself  to  the  honey. 

"  Upon  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of  mine  honour ! " 
ejaculated  Carew.  "  Tell  a  man  his  fortune  's  made,  and 
he  calls  for  barley-cakes !  Why,  thou  'dst  say  '  Pooh ! '  to 
a  cannon-ball !  My  faith,  boy,  dost  understand  what  this 
doth  mean  ? " 

"  Ay,"  said  Nick ;  "  that  I  be  hungry." 

"But,  Nick,  upon  my  soul,  thou  art  to  sing  with  the 
Children  of  Paul's ;  to  play  with  the  cathedral  company ; 
to  be  a  bright  particular  star  in  the  sweetest  galaxy  that 
ever  shone  in  English  sky !  Dost  take  me  yet  T " 

"  Ay,"  said  Nick,  and  sopped  the  honey  with  his  cake. 

Carew  played  with  his  glass  uneasily,  and  tapped  his 
heel  upon  the  floor.  "  And  is  that  all  thou  hast  to  say- 
hast  turned  oyster?  There  's  no  R  in  May— nobody  will 
eat  thee !  Come,  don't  make  a  mouth  as  though  the 
honey  of  the  world  were  all  turned  gall  upon  thy  tongue. 

10 


146  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

'T  is  the  flood-tide  of  thy  fortune,  boy !  Thou  art  to  sing 
before  the  school  to-morrow,  so  that  Master  Nathaniel 
Gyles  may  take  thy  range  and  worth.  Now,  truly,  thou 
wilt  do  thy  very  best  ? " 

The  bandy-legged  man  had  brought  water  in  a  ewer, 
and  poured  some  in  a  basin  for  Nick  to  wash  his  hands. 
There  was  a  green  ribbon  in  his  ear,  and  the  towel  hung 
across  his  arm.  Nick  wiped  his  hands  in  silence. 

"  Come,"  said  Master  Carew,  with  an  ugly  sharpness  in 
his  voice,  "  thou  'It  sing  thy  very  best  ? " 

"  There  ;s  nothing  else  to  do,"  replied  Nick,  doggedly- 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  SKYLARK'S  SONG 

MASTER  NATHANIEL  GYLES,  Precentor  of  St. 
Paul's,  had  pipe-stem  legs,  and  a  face  like  an  old 
parchment  put  in  a  box  to  keep.  His  sandy  hair  was  thin 
and  straggling,  and  his  fine  cloth  hose  wrinkled  around 
his  shrunken  shanks ;  but  his  eye  was  sharp,  and  he  wore 
about  his  neck  a  broad  gold  chain  that  marked  him  as  no 
common  man. 

For  Master  Nathaniel  Gyles  was  head  of  the  Cathedral 
schools  of  acting  and  of  music,  and  he  stood  upon  his 
dignity. 

"My  duty  is  laid  down,"  said  he,  "in  most  specific 
terms,  sir,— lex  cathedralis^—th&t  is  to  say,  by  the  laws  of 
the  cathedral ;  and  has  been,  sir,  since  the  reign  of  Richard 
the  Third.  Primus  Magister  Scholarum,  Gustos  Morum, 
Quartus  Gustos  Rotulorum,—so  the  title  stands,  sir;  and  I 
know  my  place." 

He  pushed  Nick  into  the  anteroom,  and  turned  to  Carew 
with  an  irritated  air. 

"I  likewise  know,  sir,  what  is  what.    In  plain  words, 

147 


148  MASTER   SKYLARK 

Master  Gaston  Carew,  ye  have  grossly  misrepresented  this 
boy  to  me,  to  the  waste  of  much  good  time.  Why,  sir,  he 
does  not  dance  a  step,  and  cannot  act  at  all." 

"  Soft,  Master  Gyles— be  not  so  fast !  "  said  Carew, 
haughtily,  drawing  himself  up,  with  his  hand  on  his  pon- 
iard; "dost  mean  to  tell  me  that  I  have  lied  to  theet 
Marry,  sir,  thy  tongue  will  run  thee  into  a  blind  alley !  I 
told  thee  that  the  boy  could  sing,  but  not  that  he  could 
act  or  dance." 

"  Pouf,  sir,— words !  I  know  my  place :  one  peg  below 
the  dean,  sir,  nothing  less:  ' Magister,  et  cetera'— 't  is  so 
set  down.  And  I  tell  thee,  sir,  he  has  no  training,  not  a 
bit ;  can't  tell  a  pricksong  from  a  bottle  of  hay ;  does  n'tf 
know  a  canon  from  a  crocodile,  or  a  fugue  from  a  hole 
in  the  ground ! " 

"  Oh,  fol-de-riddle  de  fol-de-rol !  What  has  that  to  do 
with  it  ?  I  tell  thee,  sir,  the  boy  can  sing." 

"And,  sir,  I  say  I  know  my  place.  Music  does  not 
grow  like  weeds." 

"  And  f a-la-las  don't  make  a  voice." 

"  What !  How  ?  Wilt  thou  teach  me  ? "  The  master's 
voice  rose  angrily.  "  Teach  me,  who  learned  descant  and 
counterpoint  in  the  Gallo-Belgic  schools,  sir ;  the  best  in 
all  the  world !  Thou,  who  knowest  not  a  staccato  from  a 
stick  of  liquorice !  " 

Carew  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently.  "Come, 
Master  Gyles,  this  is  fool  play.  I  told  thee  that  the  boy 
could  sing,  and  thou  hast  not  yet  heard  him  try.  Thou 
knowest  right  well  I  am  no  such  simple  gull  as  to  mistake 


THE  SKYLAEK'S  SONG  149 

a  jay  for  a  nightingale ;  and  I  tell  thee,  sir,  upon  my  word, 
and  on  the  remnant  of  mine  honour,  he  has  the  voice  that 
thou  dost  need  if  thou  wouldst  win  the  favor  of  the 
Queen.  He  has  the  voice,  and  thou  the  thingumbobs  to 
make  the  most  of  it.  Don't  be  a  fool,  now ;  hear  him  sing. 
That  's  all  I  ask.  Just  hear  him  once.  Thou  'It  pawn 
thine  ears  to  hear  him  twice." 

The  music-school  stood  within  the  old  cathedral  grounds. 
Through  the  windows  came  up  distantly  the  murmur  of 
the  throng  in  Paul's  Yard.  It  was  mid-afternoon,  quite 
warm ;  blundering  flies  buzzed  up  and  down  the  lozenged 
panes,  and  through  the  dark  hall  crept  the  humming  sound 
of  childish  voices  reciting  eagerly,  with  now  and  then  a 
sharp,  small  cry  as  some  one  faltered  in  his  lines  and  had 
his  fingers  rapped.  Somewhere  else  there  were  boyish 
voices  running  scales,  now  up,  now  down,  without  a  stop, 
and  other  voices  singing  harmonies,  two  parts  and  three 
together,  here  and  there  a  little  flat  from  weariness. 

The  stairs  were  very  dark,  Nick  thought,  as  they  went 
up  to  another  floor ;  but  the  long  hall  they  came  into  there 
was  quite  bright  with  the  sun. 

At  one  end  was  a  little  stage,  like  the  one  at  the  Rose 
play-house,  with  a  small  gallery  for  musicians  above  it; 
but  everything  here  was  painted  white  and  gold,  and  was 
most  scrupulously  clean.  The  rush-strewn  floor  was  filled 
with  oaken  benches,  and  there  were  paintings  hanging 
upon  the  wall,  portraits  of  old  head-masters  and  precentors. 
Some  of  them  were  so  dark  with  time  that  Nick  wondered 
if  they  had  been  blackamoors. 


150  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Master  Gyles  closed  the  great  door  and  pulled  a  cord 
that  hung  by  the  stage.  A  bell  jangled  faintly  somewhere 
in  the  wall.  Nick  heard  the  muffled  voices  hush,  and  then 
a  shuffling  tramp  of  slippered  feet  came  up  the  outer  stair. 

"  Pouf ! "  said  the  precentor,  crustily.  "  Tempus  fugit— 
that  is  to  say,  we  have  no  time  to  waste.  So,  marry,  boy, 
venite,  exuUemus—in  other  words,  if  thou  canst  sing,  be  up 
and  at  it.  Come,  cantate— sing,  I  bid  thee,  and  that  in- 
stanter— if  thou  canst  sing  at  all." 

The  under-masters  and  monitors  were  pushing  the  boys 
into  their  seats.  Carew  pointed  to  the  stage.  "  Thou  'It 
do  thy  level  best !  "  he  said  in  a  low,  hard  tone,  and  some- 
thing clashed  beneath  his  cloak  like  steel  on  steel. 

Nick  went  up  the  steps  behind  the  screen.  It  seemed 
cold  in  the  room ;  he  had  not  noticed  it  before.  Yet  there 
were  sweat-drops  upon  his  forehead.  He  felt  as  if  he 
were  a  jackanapes  he  had  seen  once  at  the  Stratford  fair, 
which  wore  a  crimson  jerkin  and  a  cap.  The  man  who 
had  the  jackanapes  played  upon  a  pipe  and  a  tabor ;  and 
when  he  said,  "  Dance  !  "  the  jackanapes  danced,  for  it  was 
sorely  afraid  of  the  man.  Yet  when  Nick  looked  around 
and  did  not  see  the  master-player  anywhere  in  the  hall, 
he  felt  exceedingly  lonely  all  at  once  without  him,  though 
he  both  feared  and  hated  him. 

There  still  was  a  shuffling  of  feet  and  a  low  talking ;  but 
soon  it  became  very  quiet,  and  they  all  seemed  to  be  wait, 
ing  for  him  to  begin.  He  did  not  care,  but  supposed  he 
might  as  well :  what  else  could  he  do  ? 

There  was  a  clock  somewhere  ticking  quickly  with  its 
sharp,  metallic  ring.  As  he  listened,  lonely,  his  heart  cried 


THE  SKYLAEK'S  SONG  151 

Out  for  home.  In  his  fancy  the  wind  seemed  rippling 
over  the  Avon,  and  the  elm-leaves  rustled  like  rain  upon 
the  roof  above  his  bed.  There  were  red  and  white  wild- 
roses  in  the  hedge,  and  in  the  air  a  smell  of  clover  and  of 
new-mown  hay.  The  mowers  would  be  working  in  the 
clover  in  the  moonlight.  He  could  almost  see  the  sweep 
of  the  shining  scythes,  and  hear  the  chink-a-chank,  chink- 
a-chank  of  the  whetstone  on  the  long,  curving  blades. 
Chink-a-chank,  chink-a-chank— 't  was  but  the  clock,  and 
he  in  London  town. 

Carew,  sitting  there  behind  the  carven  prompter's- 
screen,  put  down  his  head  between  his  hands  and  listened. 
There  were  murmurings  a  little  while,  then  silence. 
Would  the  boy  never  begin!  He  pressed  his  knuckles 
into  his  temples  and  waited.  Bow  Bells  rang  out  the 
hour ;  but  the  room  was  as  still  as  a  deep  sleep.  Would 
the  boy  never  begin  ? 

The  precentor  sniffed.  It  was  a  contemptuous,  incred- 
ulous sniff.  Carew  looked  up— his  lips  white,  a  fierce  red 
spot  in  each  cheek.  He  was  talking  to  himself.  "  By  the 
whistle  of  the  Lord  High  Admiral ! "  he  said— but  there 
he  stopped  and  held  his  breath.  Nick  was  singing. 

Only  the  old  madrigal,  with  its  half-forgotten  words 
that  other  generations  sang  before  they  fell  asleep.  How 
queer  it  sounded  there !  It  was  a  very  simple  tune,  too ; 
yet,  as  he  sang,  the  old  precentor  started  from  his  chair 
and  pressed  his  wrinkled  hands  together  against  his  breast. 
He  quite  forgot  the  sneer  upon  his  face,  and  it  went  fad- 
ing out  like  breath  from  a  frosty  pane. 

He  had  twelve  boys  who  could  sing  a  hundred  songs  at 


152  MASTER  SKYLARK 

sight  from  unfamiliar  notes;  who  kept  the  beat  and 
marked  the  time  as  if  their  throats  were  pendulums; 
could  syncopate  and  floriate  as  readily  as  breathe.  And 
this  was  only  a  common  country  song. 

But— "  That  voice,  that  voice! "  he  panted  to  himself: 
for  old  Nat  Gyles  was  music-mad ;  melody  to  him  was  like 
the  very  breath  of  life.  And  the  boy's  high,  young  voice, 
soft  as  a  flute  and  silver  clear,  throbbed  in  the  air  as  if 
his  very  heart  were  singing  out  of  his  body  in  the  sound. 
And  then,  like  the  skylark  rising,  up,  up  it  went,  and  up, 
up,  up,  till  the  older  choristers  held  their  breath  and  feared 
that  the  vibrant  tone  would  break,  so  slender,  film-like 
was  the  trembling  thread  of  the  boy's  wild  skylark  song. 
But  no ;  it  trembled  there,  high,  sweet,  and  clear,  a  moment 
in  the  air ;  and  then  came  running,  rippling,  floating  down, 
as  though  some  one  had  set  a  song  on  fire  in  the  sky,  and 
dropped  it  quivering  and  bright  into  a  shadow  world. 
Then  suddenly  it  was  gone,  and  the  long  hall  was  still. 

The  old  precentor  stepped  beyond  the  screen. 

Gaston  Carew's  face  was  in  his  hands,  and  his  shoulders 
shook  convulsively.  "  I  '11  leave  thee  go,  lad,— ma  foi, 
I  '11  leave  thee  go.  But,  nay,  I  dare  not  leave  thee  go ! " 

Some  one  came  and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  It  was 
the  sub-precentor.  "  Master  Gyles  would  speak  with  thee, 
sir,"  said  he,  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  half  afraid  of  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice  in  the  quiet  that  was  in  the  hall. 

Carew  drew  his  hand  hastily  over  his  face,  as  if  to  take 
the  old  one  off  and  put  a  new  one  on,  then  arose  and  fol- 
lowed the  man. 


"•THAT  VOICE,  THAT  VOICE  I 'NAT  GYLES  I'ANTED  TO  11IMSELK." 


THE  SKYLARK'S  SONG  153 

The  old  precentor  stood  with  his  hands  still  clasped 
against  his  breast.  "  Mirabik  !  "  he  was  saying  with  bated 
breath.  "It  is  impossible,  and  I  have  dreamed!  Yet 
credo— I  believe— quia  impossiUle  est— because  it  is  impos- 
sible. Tell  me,  Carew,  do  I  wake  or  dream— or,  stay,  was 
it  a  soul  I  heard  ?  Ay,  Carew,  ;t  was  a  soul :  the  lad's  own 
white,  young  soul  My  faith,  I  said  he  was  of  no  account ! 
Satis  verborum—say  no  more.  Humanum  est  errare—I  am 
a  poor  old  fool ;  and  there  's  a  sour  bug  flown  in  mine  eye 
that  makes  it  water  so ! "  He  wiped  his  eyes,  for  the  tears 
were  running  down  his  cheeks. 

"Thou  'It  take  him,  then?"  asked  Carew. 

"Take  him?"  cried  the  old  precentor,  catching  the 
master-player  by  the  hand.  "  Marry,  that  will  I ;  a  voice 
like  that  grows  not  on  every  bush.  Take  him  ?  Pouf ! 
I  know  my  place— he  shall  be  entered  on  the  rolls  at 
once." 

"Good!"  said  Carew.  "I  shall  have  him  learn  to 
dance,  and  teach  him  how  to  act  myself.  He  stays  with 
me,  ye  understand ;  thy  school  fare  is  miserly.  I  '11  dress 
him,  too ;  for  these  students'  robes  are  shabby  stuff.  But 
for  the  rest—" 

"  Trust  me,"  said  Master  Gyles ;  "  he  shall  be  the  first 
singer  of  them  all.  He  shall  be  taught— but  who  can 
teach  the  lark  its  song,  and  not  do  horrid  murder  on  it  ? 
Faith,  Carew,  I  '11  teach  the  lad  myself;  ay,  all  I  know. 
I  studied  in  the  best  schools  in  the  world." 

"  And,  hark  'e,  Master  Gyles,"  said  Carew,  sternly  all  at 
once  j  "  thou  'It  come  no  royal  placard  and  seizure  on  me 


154  MASTER  SKYLARK 

—ye  have  sworn.  The  boy  is  mine  to  have  and  to  hold, 
with  all  that  he  earns,  in  spite  of  thy  prerogatives." 

For  the  kings  of  old  had  given  the  masters  of  this  school 
the  right  to  take  for  St.  Paul's  choir  whatever  voices 
pleased  them,  wherever  they  might  be  found,  by  force  if 
not  by  favor,  barring  only  the  royal  singers  at  Windsor ; 
and  when  men  have  such  privileges  it  is  best  to  be  wary 
how  one  puts  temptation  in  their  way. 

"Thou  hadst  mine  oath  before  I  even  saw  the  boy," 
said  the  precentor,  haughtily.  tl  Dost  think  me  perjured 
— Primus  Magister  Scholarum,  Gustos  Morum,  Quartus 
Gustos  Rotulorum  f  Pouf !  I  know  my  place.  My  oath 's 
my  oath.  But,  soft ;  enough — here  comes  the  boy.  Who 
could  have  told  a  skylark  in  such  popinjay  attire  ? " 


CHAPTER  XXHT 

A  NEW  LIFE 

ND  now  a  strange,  new  life  began  for  Nicholas  Att- 
wood,  in  some  things  so  grand  and  kind  that  he 
almost  hated  to  dislike  it. 

It  was  different  in  every  way  from  the  simple,  pinching 
round  in  Stratford,  and  full  of  all  the  comforts  of  richness 
and  plenty  that  make  life  happy— excepting  home  and 
mother. 

Master  Gaston  Carew  would  have  nothing  but  the  best, 
and  what  he  wanted,  whether  he  needed  it  or  not ;  so  with 
him  money  came  like  a  summer  rain,  and  went  like  water 
out  of  a  sieve :  for  he  was  a  wild  blade. 

They  ate  their  breakfast  when  they  pleased ;  dined  at 
eleven,  like  the  nobility ;  supped  at  five,  as  was  the  fashion 
of  the  court.  They  had  wheat-bread  the  whole  week 
round,  as  only  rich  folk  could  afford,  with  fruit  and  berries 
in  their  season,  and  honey  from  the  Surrey  bee-f arms  that 
made  one's  mouth  water  with  the  sight  of  it  dripping 
from  the  flaky  comb ;  and  on  Fridays  spitchcocked  eels, 
pickled  herrings,  and  plums,  with  simnel-cakes,  poached 

155 


156  MASTER  SKYLARK 

eggs  and  milk,  cream  cheese  and  cordial,  like  very  kings ; 
so  that  Nick  could  not  help  thriving. 

The  master-player  very  seldom  left  him  by  himself  to 
mope  or  to  be  melancholy ;  but,  while  ever  vaguely  prom- 
ising to  let  him  go,  did  everything  in  his  power  to  make 
him  rather  wish  to  stay ;  so  that  Nick  was  constantly  sur- 
prised by  the  free-handed  kindness  of  this  man  whom  he 
had  every  other  reason  in  the  world,  he  thought,  for  deem- 
ing his  worst  enemy. 

When  there  were  any  new  curiosities  in  Fleet  street,— 
wild  men  with  rings  in  their  noses,  wondrous  fishes, 
puppet-shows,  or  red-capped  baboons  whirling  on  a  pole, 
— Carew  would  have  Nick  see  them  as  well  as  Cicely ;  and 
often  took  them  both  to  Bartholomew's  Fair,  where  there 
was  a  giant  eating  raw  beef  and  a  man  dancing  upon  a 
rope  high  over  the  heads  of  the  people.  He  would  have 
had  Nick  every  Thursday  to  the  bear-baiting  in  the  Paris 
Garden  circus  beside ;  but  one  sight  of  that  brutal  sport 
made  the  boy  so  sick  that  they  never  went  again,  but  to 
the  stage-plays  at  the  Rose  instead,  which  Nick  enjoyed 
immensely,  for  Carew  himself  acted  most  excellently,  and 
Master  Tom  Heywood  always  came  and  spoke  kindly  to 
the  lonely  boy. 

For,  in  spite  of  all,  Nick's  heart  ached  so  at  times  that 
he  thought  it  would  surely  break  with  longing  for  his 
mother.  And  at  night,  when  all  the  house  was  still  and 
dark,  and  he  alone  in  bed,  all  the  little,  unconsidered 
things  of  home — the  beehives  and  the  fragrant  mint  beside 
the  kitchen  door,  the  smell  of  the  baking  bread  or  frying 


A  NEW  LIFE  157 

carrots,  the  sound  of  the  red-cheeked  harvest  apples  drop- 
ping in  the  orchard,  and  the  plump  of  the  old  bucket  in 
the  well— came  back  to  him  so  vividly  that  many  a  time 
he  cried  himself  to  sleep,  and  could  not  have  forgotten  if 
he  would. 

On  Midsummer  Day  there  was  a  Triumph  on  the  river 
at  Westminster,  with  a  sham-fight  and  a  great  shooting  of 
guns  and  hurling  of  balls  of  wild-fire.  The  Queen  was 
there,  and  the  ambassadors  of  France  and  Venice,  with 
the  Duke  of  Lennox  and  the  Earls  of  Arundel  and  South- 
ampton. Master  Carew  took  a  wherry  to  Whitehall,  and 
from  the  green  there  they  watched  the  show. 

The  Thames  was  fairly  hidden  by  the  boats,  and  there 
was  a  grand  state  bark  all  trimmed  with  silk  and  velvet 
for  the  Queen  to  be  in  to  see  the  pastime.  But  as  for 
that,  all  Nick  could  make  out  was  the  high  carved  stern 
of  the  bark,  painted  with  England's  golden  lions,  and  the 
bark  was  so  far  away  that  he  could  not  even  tell  which 
was  the  Queen. 

Coming  home  by  Somerset  House,  a  large  barge  passed 
them  with  many  watermen  rowing,  and  fine  carpets  about 
the  seats ;  and  in  it  the  old  Lord  Chamberlain  and  his  son 
my  Lord  Hunsdon,  who,  it  was  said,  was  to  be  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  when  his  father  died;  for  the  old  lord  was 
failing,  and  the  Queen  liked  handsome  young  men  about 
her. 

In  the  barge,  beside  their  followers,  were  a  company 
of  richly  dressed  gentlemen,  who  were  having  a  very  gay 
time  together,  and  seemed  to  please  the  old  Lord  Cham- 


158  MASTER  SKYLARK 

berlain  exceedingly  with  the  things  they  said.  They  were 
somebodies,  as  Nick  could  very  well  see  from  their  carriage 
and  address ;  and,  so  far  as  the  barge  allowed,  they  were 
all  clustered  about  one  fellow  in  the  seat  by  my  Lord 
Hunsdon.  He  seemed  to  be  the  chiefest  spokesman  of 
them  all,  and  every  one  appeared  very  glad  indeed  to 
be  friendly  with  him.  My  Lord  Hunsdon  himself  made 
free  with  his  own  nobility,  and  sat  beside  him  arm  in 
arm. 

What  he  was  saying  they  were  too  far  away  to  hear  in 
the  shouting  and  splash ;  but  those  with  him  in  the  barge 
were  listening  as  eagerly  as  children  to  a  merry  tale. 
Sometimes  they  laughed  until  they  held  their  sides ;  and 
then  again  as  suddenly  they  were  very  quiet,  and  played 
softly  with  their  tankards  and  did  not  look  at  one  another 
as  he  went  gravely  on  telling  his  story.  Then  all  at  once 
he  would  wave  his  hand  gaily,  and  his  smile  would  sparkle 
out ;  and  the  whole  company,  from  the  old  Lord  Chamber- 
lain down,  would  brighten  up  again,  as  if  a  new  dawn  had 
come  over  the  hills  into  their  hearts  from  the  light  of  his 
hazel  eyes. 

Nick  made  no  doubt  that  this  was  some  young  earl 
rolling  in  wealth ;  for  who  else  could  have  such  listeners  ? 
Yet  there  was,  nevertheless,  something  so  familiar  in  his 
look  that  he  could  not  help  staring  at  him  as  the  barge 
came  thumping  through  the  jam. 

They  passed  along  an  oar's-length  or  two  away ;  and  as 
they  came  abeam,  Carew,  rising,  doffed  his  hat,  and  bowed 
politely  to  them  all. 


A  NEW  LIFE  159 

In  spite  of  his  wild  life,  he  was  a  striking,  handsome 
man. 

The  old  Lord  Chamberlain  said  something  to  his  son, 
and  pointed  with  his  hand.  All  the  company  in  the  barge 
turned  round  to  look ;  and  he  who  had  been  talking  stood 
up  quickly  with  his  hand  upon  the  young  lord's  arm,  and, 
smiling,  waved  his  cap. 

Nick  gave  a  sharp  cry. 

Then  the  barge  pushed  through,  and  shot  away  down 
stream  like  a  wild  swan. 

"Why,  Nick,"  exclaimed  Cicely,  "how  dreadful  thou 
dost  look ! "  and,  frightened,  she  caught  him  by  the  hand. 
"  Why,  oh !— what  is  it,  Nick— thou  art  not  ill?" 

"  It  was  Will  Shakspere ! n  cried  Nick,  and  sank  into  the 
bottom  of  the  wherry  with  his  head  upon  the  master- 
player's  knee.  "Oh,  Master  Carew,"  he  cried,  "will  ye 
never  leave  me  go?" 

Carew  laid  his  hand  upon  the  boy's  head,  and  patted  it 
gently. 

"  Why,  Nick,"  said  he,  and  cleared  his  throat,  "  is  not 
this  better  than  Stratford  ? " 

"Oh,  Master  Carew— mother  's  there !  "  was  the  reply. 

There  was  no  sound  but  the  thud  of  oars  in  the  rowlocks 
and  the  hollow  bubble  of  the  water  at  the  stern,  for  they 
had  fallen  out  of  the  hurry  and  were  coming  down  alone. 

"  Is  thy  mother  a  good  woman,  Nick  ?  "  asked  Cicely. 

Carew  was  staring  out  into  the  fading  sky.  "Ay, 
sweetheart,"  he  answered  in  a  queer,  husky  voice,  suddenly 
putting  one  arm  about  her  and  the  other  around  Nick's 


160  MASTER  SKYLARK 

shoulders.     "  None  but  a  good  mother  could  have  so  good 
a  son." 

"  Then  thou  wilt  send  him  home,  daddy  ? "  asked  Cicely. 

Carew  took  her  hand  in  his,  but  answered  nothing. 

They  had  come  to  the  landing. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  MAKING  OP  A  PLAYER 

MASTER  WILL  SHAKSPERE  was  in  town ! 
The  thought  ran  through  Nick  Attwood's  head 
like  a  half-remembered  tune.     Once  or  twice  he  had  all 
but  sung  it  instead  of  the  words  of  his  part.    Master  Will 
Shakspere  was  in  town ! 

Could  he  but  just  find  Master  Shakspere,  all  his  trouble 
would  be  over ;  for  the  husband  of  his  mother's  own  cousin 
would  see  justice  done  him  in  spite  of  the  master-player 
and  the  bandy-legged  man  with  the  ribbon  in  his  ear— of 
that  he  was  sure. 

But  there  seemed  small  chance  of  its  coming  about ;  for 
the  doors  of  Gaston  Carew's  house  were  locked  and  barred 
by  day  and  by  night,  as  much  to  keep  Nick  in  as  to  keep 
thieves  out ;  and  all  day  long,  when  Carew  was  away,  the 
servants  went  about  the  lower  halls,  and  Gregory  Goole's 
uncanny  face  peered  after  him  from  every  shadowy  corner ; 
and  when  he  went  with  Carew  anywhere,  the  master-player 
watched  him  like  a  hawk,  while  always  at  his  heels  he 
could  hear  the  clump,  clump,  clump  of  the  bandy-legged 
man  following  after  him. 
u  161 


162  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Even  were  he  free  to  go  as  he  pleased,  he  knew  not 
where  to  turn;  for  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company 
would  not  be  at  the  Blackfriars  play-house  until  Martin- 
mas ;  and  before  that  time  to  look  for  even  Master  Will 
Shakspere  at  random  in  London  town  would  be  worse 
than  hunting  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack. 

To  be  sure,  he  knew  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  men 
were  still  playing  at  the  theater  in  Shorediteh ;  for  Master 
Carew  had  taken  Cicely  there  to  see  the  "  Two  Gentlemen 
of  Verona."  But  just  where  Shorediteh  was,  Nick  had 
only  the  faintest  idea — somewhere  away  off  by  Finsbury 
Fields,  beyond  the  city  walls  to  the  north  of  London  town 
—and  all  the  wide  world  seemed  north  of  London  town  j 
and  the  way  thither  lay  through  a  bewildering  tangle  of 
streets  in  which  the  din  and  the  rush  of  the  crowd  were 
never  still. 

From  a  hopeless  chase  like  that  Nick  shrank  back  like 
a  snail  into  its  shell.  He  was  not  too  young  to  know  that 
there  were  worse  things  than  to  be  locked  in  Gaston 
Carew's  house.  It  were  better  to  be  a  safe-kept  prisoner 
there  than  to  be  lost  in  the  sinks  of  London.  And  so, 
knowing  this,  he  made  the  best  of  it. 

But  Master  Shakspere  was  come  back  to  town,  and  that 
was  something.  It  seemed  somehow  less  lonely  just  to 
think  of  it. 

Yet  in  truth  he  had  but  little  time  to  think  of  it ;  for 
the  master-player  kept  him  closely  at  his  strange,  new 
work,  and  taught  him  daily  with  the  most  amazing  pa- 
tience. 


THE  MAKING  OP  A  PLAYER  163 

He  had  Nick  learn  no  end  of  stage  parts  off  by  heart, 
with  their  cues  and  "  business,"  entrances  and  exits ;  and 
worked  fully  as  hard  as  his  pupil,  reading  over  every  sen- 
tence twenty  times  until  Nick  had  the  accent  perfectly. 
He  would  have  him  stamp,  too,  and  turn  about,  and  ges- 
ture in  accordance  with  the  speech,  until  the  boy's  arms 
ached,  going  with  him  through  the  motions  one  by  one, 
over  and  over  again,  unsatisfied,  but  patient  to  the  last, 
nntil  Nick  wondered.  "Nick,  my  lad,"  he  would  often 
say,  with  a  tired  but  determined  smile,  "one  little  thing 
done  wrong  may  spoil  the  finest  play,  as  one  bad  apple 
rots  the  barrelful.  We  '11  have  it  right,  or  not  at  all,  if  it 
takes  a  month  of  Sundays." 

So,  often,  he  kept  Nick  before  a  mirror  for  an  hour  at  a 
time,  making  faces  while  he  spoke  his  lines,  smiling, 
frowning,  or  grimacing  as  best  seemed  to  fit  the  part, 
until  the  boy  grew  fairly  weary  of  his  own  looks.  Then 
sometimes,  more  often  as  the  time  slipped  by,  Carew 
would  clap  his  hands  with  a  boyish  laugh,  and  have  a  pie 
brought  and  a  cup  of  Spanish  cordial  for  them  both,  de- 
claring that  he  loved  the  lad  with  all  his  heart,  upon  the 
remnant  of  his  honour :  from  which  Nick  knew  that  he 
was  coming  on. 

Cicely  Carew's  governess  was  a  Mistress  Agnes  Anstey. 
By  birth  she  had  been  a  Harcourt  of  Ankerwyke,  and 
she  was  therefore  everywhere  esteemed  fit  by  birth  and 
breeding  to  teach  the  young  mind  when  to  bow  and  when 
to  beckon.  She  came  each  morning  to  the  house,  and 
Carew  paid  her  double  shillings  to  see  to  it  that  Nick 


164  MASTER  SKYLARK 

learned  such  little  tricks  of  cap  and  cloak  as  a  lady's  page 
need  have,  the  carriage  best  fitted  for  his  place,  and  how 
to  come  into  a  room  where  great  folks  were.  Moreover, 
how  to  back  out  again,  bowing,  and  not  fall  over  the 
stools— which  was  no  little  art,  until  Nick  caught  the 
knack  of  peeping  slyly  between  his  legs  when  he  bowed. 

His  hair,  too,  was  allowed  to  grow  long,  and  was  combed 
carefully  every  day  by  the  tiring-woman ;  and  soon,  as  it 
was  naturally  curly,  it  fell  in  rolling  waves  about  his  neck. 

On  the  heels  of  the  governess  came  M'sieu  de  Fleury, 
who,  it  was  said,  had  been  dancing-master  to  Hatton,  the 
late  Lord  Chancellor  of  England,  and  had  taught  him 
those  tricks  with  his  nimble  heels  which  had  capered  him 
into  the  Queen's  good  graces,  and  so  got  him  the  chancel- 
lorship. M'sieu  spoke  dreadful  English,  but  danced  like 
the  essence  of  agility,  and  taught  both  Nick  and  Cicely 
the  latest  Italian  coranto,  playing  the  tune  upon  his  queer 
little  pochette. 

Cicely  already  danced  like  a  pixy,  and  laughed  merrily 
at  her  comrade's  first  awkward  antics,  until  he  flushed 
with  embarrassment.  At  that  she  instantly  became  grave, 
and,  when  M'sieu  had  gone,  came  across  the  room,  and 
putting  her  arm  about  Nick,  said  repentantly,  "  Don't  thou 
mind  me,  Nick.  Father  saith  the  French  all  laugh  too 
soon  at  nothing ;  and  I  have  caught  it  from  my  mother's 
blood.  A  boy  is  not  good  friends  with  his  feet  as  a  girl 
is ;  but  thou  wilt  do  beautifully,  I  know ;  and  M'sieu  shall 
teach  us  the  galliard  together." 

And  often,  after  the  lesson  was  over  and  M'sieu  de- 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PLAYER  165 

parted,  she  would  have  Nick  try  his  steps  over  and  over 
again  in  the  great  room,  while  she  stood  upon  the  stool 
to  make  her  tall,  and  cried,  "  Sa— sa !  "  as  the  master  did, 
scolding  and  praising  him  by  turns,  or  jumping  down  in 
pretty  impatience  to  tuck  up  her  little  silken  skirts  and 
show  him  the  step  herself ;  while  the  cook's  knave  and  the 
scullery-maids  peeped  at  the  door  and  cried :  "  La,  now, 
look  'e,  Moll ! "  at  every  coupee. 

It  made  a  picture  quaint  and  pretty  to  see  them  dancing 
there.  The  smoky  light,  stealing  in  through  the  narrow 
casements  over  the  woodwork  dark  with  age,  dropped  in 
little  yellow  chequers  upon  old  chests  of  oak,  of  walnut, 
and  of  strange,  purple-black  wood  from  foreign  lands, 
giving  a  weird  life  to  the  griffins  and  twisted  traceries 
carved  upon  their  sides.  High-backed,  narrow  chairs 
stood  along  the  wall,  with  cushioned  stools  inlaid  with 
shell.  Twinklings  of  light  glinted  from  the  brass  candle- 
sticks. On  the  wall  above  the  wainscot  the  faded  hangings 
wavered  in  the  draught,  crusted  thickly  with  strange  em- 
broidered flowers.  And  dancing  there  together  in  the 
semi-gloom,  the  children  seemed  quaint  little  figures 
stepped  down  from  the  tapestry  at  the  touch  of  a  magic 
wand. 

And  so  the  time  went  slipping  by,  very  pleasantly  upon 
the  whole,  and  Nick's  young  heart  grew  stout  again  within 
his  breast ;  for  he  was  strong  and  well,  and  in  those  days 
the  very  air  was  full  of  hope,  and  no  man  knew  what  might 
betide  with  the  rising  of  to-morrow's  sun. 

Every  day,  from  two  till  three  o'clock,  he  was  at  Master 


166  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Gyles's  private  singing-room  at  the  old  cathedral  school, 
learning  to  read  music  at  first  sight,  and  to  sing  offhand 
the  second,  third,  and  fourth  parts  of  queer  intermingled 
fugues  or  wonderfully  constructed  canons. 

At  first  his  head  felt  stuffed  like  a  feasted  glutton  with 
all  the  learning  that  the  old  precentor  poured  into  it ;  but 
by  and  by  he  found  it  plain  enough,  and  no  very  difficult 
thing  to  follow  up  the  prickings  in  the  paper  with  his 
voice,  and  to  sing  parts  written  at  fifths  and  fourths  and 
thirds  with  other  voices  as  easily  as  to  carry  a  song  alone. 
But  still  he  sang  best  his  own  unpointed  songs,  the  call 
and  challenge  of  the  throstle  and  the  merle,  the  morning 
glory  of  the  lark,  songs  that  were  impossible  to  write. 
And  those  were  the  songs  that  the  precentor  was  at  the 
greatest  pains  to  have  him  sing  in  perfect  tones,  making 
him  open  his  mouth  like  a  little  round  O  and  let  the  music 
float  out  of  itself. 

Like  the  master-player,  nothing  short  of  perfection 
pleased  old  Nathaniel  Gyles,  and  Nick's  voice  often  wavered 
with  sheer  weariness  as  he  ran  his  endless  scales  and  sang 
absurd  fa-la-la-las  while  his  teacher  beat  the  time  in  the 
air  with  his  lean  forefinger  like  a  grim  automaton. 

The  old  man,  too,  was  chary  of  his  praise,  though  Nick 
tried  hard  to  please  him,  and  it  was  only  by  little  things 
he  told  his  satisfaction.  He  touzed  the  ears  of  the  other 
boys,  and  sometimes  smartly  thumped  their  crowns ;  but 
with  Nick  he  only  nipped  his  ruddy  cheek  between  his 
thumb  and  finger,  or  laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder  when 
the  hard  day's  work  was  done,  saying,  "  Satis  cantorum—it 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PLAYER  167 

is  enough.    Now  be  off  to  thy  nest,  sir ;  and  do  not  forget 
to  wash  thy  throat  with  good  cold  water  every  day." 

ALL  this  time  the  busy  sand  kept  running  in  the  glass. 
July  was  gone,  and  August  at  its  heels.  The  hot  breath 
of  the  summer  had  cooled,  and  the  sun  no  longer  burned 
the  face  when  it  came  in  through  the  windows.  Nick  often 
shut  his  eyes  and  let  the  warm  light  fall  upon  his  closed 
lids.  It  made  a  ruddy  glow  like  the  wild  red  poppies  that 
grow  in  the  pale  green  rye.  In  fancy  he  could  almost 
smell  the  queer,  rancid  odor  of  the  crimson  bloom  crushed 
beneath  the  feet  of  the  farmers'  boys  who  cut  the  butter- 
yellow  mustard  from  among  the  bearded  grain. 

"  Heigh-ho  and  alackaday !  "  thought  Nick.  "  It  is  better 
in  the  country  than  in  town ! "  For  there  was  no  smell  in 
all  the  town  like  the  clean,  sweet  smell  of  the  open  fields 
just  after  a  summer  rain,  no  colors  like  the  bright  heart's- 
ease  and  none-so-pretty,  or  the  honeysuckle  over  the  cot- 
tage door,  and  no  song  ever  to  be  heard  among  the  sooty 
chimney-pots  like  the  song  of  the  throstle  piping  to  the 
daisies  on  the  hill. 

But  he  had  little  time  to  dream  such  dreams,  for  every 
day  from  four  to  six  o'clock  the  children's  company  played 
and  sang  in  public,  at  their  own  school-hall,  or  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  Mitre  Inn  on  Bread  street  near  St.  Paul's. 

They  were  the  pets  of  London  town,  and  their  playing- 
place  was  thronged  day  after  day.  For  the  bright  young 
faces  and  sweet,  unbroken  voices  of  the  richly  costumed 
lads  made  a  spot  in  sordid  London  life  like  a  pot  of  posies 


168  MASTER  SKYLARK 

in  a  window  on  a  dark  street ;  so  that  both  the  high  and 
the  low,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  came  in  to  see  them  play 
and  dance,  to  hear  them  sing,  and  to  laugh  again  at  the 
witty  things  which  were  written  for  them  to  say. 

The  songs  that  were  set  for  Nick  to  sing  were  always 
short,  sweet,  simple  things  that  even  the  dull-eyed,  toil- 
worn  folk  upon  the  rough  plank  benches  in  the  pit  could 
understand.  Many  a  silver  shilling  came  clinking  down 
at  the  heels  of  the  other  boys  from  the  galleries  of  the  inn, 
where  the  people  of  the  better  classes,  wealthy  merchants, 
ladies  and  their  dashing  gallants,  watched  the  children's 
company ;  but  when  Nick's  songs  were  done  the  common 
people  down  below  seemed  all  gone  daft.  They  tossed  red 
apples  after  him,  ripe  yellow  pears,  fat  purple  plums  by 
handfuls,  called  him  by  name  and  brought  him  back,  and 
cried  for  more  and  more  and  more,  until  the  old  precentor 
shook  his  head  behind  the  prompter's-screen,  and  waved 
Nick  off  with  a  forbidding  frown.  Yet  all  the  while  he 
chuckled  to  himself  until  it  seemed  as  if  his  dry  old  ribs 
would  rattle  in  his  sides ;  and  every  day,  before  Nick  sang, 
he  had  him  up  to  his  little  room  for  a  broken  egg  and  a 
cup  of  rosy  cordial. 

"  To  clear  thy  voice  and  to  cheer  the  cockles  of  thine 
heart,"  said  he ;  "  and  to  tune  that  pretty  throat  of  thine 
ad  gustum  Reginae— which  is  to  say,  'to  the  Queen's  own 
taste,'— God  bless  Her  Majesty !  " 

The  other  boys  were  cast  for  women's  parts,  for  women 
never  acted  then ;  and  a  queer  sight  it  was  to  Nick  to  see 
his  fellows  in  great  farthingales  of  taffeta  and  starchy 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  PLAYER  169 

cambric  that  rustled  as  they  walked,  with  popinjay  blue 
ribbon  in  their  hair,  and  flowered  stomachers  sparkling 
with  paste  jewels. 

And,  truth,  it  was  no  easy  thing  to  tell  them  from  the 
real  affair,  or  to  guess  the  made  from  the  maiden,  so 
slender  and  so  graceful  were  they  all,  with  their  ruffs  and 
their  muffs  and  their  feathered  fans,  and  all  the  airs  and 
mincing  graces  of  the  daintiest  young  miss. 

But  old  Nat  Gyles  would  never  have  Nick  Attwood  play 
the  girl.  "  The  lad  is  good  enough  for  me  just  as  he  is," 
said  he ;  and  that  was  all  there  was  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  WANING  OF   THE  YEAE 

E  September  the  Lord  Admiral's  company  made  a  totur 
•f  the  Midlands  during  the  great  English  fairing-time ; 
but  Carew  did  not  go  with  them.  For,  though  still  by 
name  master-player  with  Henslowe  and  Alleyn,  his  busi- 
ness with  them  had  come  to  be  but  little  more  than  pocket- 
ing his  share  of  the  profits ;  and  for  the  rest,  nothing  but 
to  take  Nick  daily  to  and  from  St.  Paul's,  and  to  draw  his 
wages  week  by  week. 

Of  those  wages  Nick  saw  never  a  penny :  Carew  took 
good  care  of  that.  Yet  he  gave  him  everything  that  any 
boy  could  need,  and  bought  him  whatever  he  fancied  the 
instant  he  so  much  as  expressed  a  wish  for  it :  which,  in 
truth,  was  not  much ;  for  Nick  had  lived  in  only  a  country 
town,  and  knew  not  many  things  to  want. 

But  with  money  a-plenty  thus  coming  so  easily  into  his 
hands,— money  for  dicing,  for  luxuries,  for  all  his  wild 
sports,  money  for  Cicely,  money  for  keeps,  money  to  play 
chuckie-stones  with  if  he  chose,— there  was  no  bridle  to 
Gaston  Carew's  wild  career.  His  boon  companions  were 

170 


THE  WANING  OF  THE  YEAR  171 

spendthrifts  and  gamesters,  dissolute  fellows,  of  whom  the 
least  said  soonest  mended ;  and  with  them  he  was  brawling 
early  and  late,  very  often  all  night  long.  And  though 
money  came  in  fast,  he  wasted  it  faster,  so  that  matters 
went  from  bad  to  worse.  Duns  came  spying  about  his  door, 
and  bailiffs  hunted  after  him  around  the  town  with  unpaid 
tradesmen's  bills.  Yet  still  he  laughed  and  clapped  his 
hand  upon  his  poniard  in  the  old  bold  way. 

September  faded  away  in  wistful  haze  along  the  Hamp- 
stead  hills.  The  Admiral's  men  came  riding  back  with 
keen  October  ringing  at  their  heels,  and  all  the  stalls  were 
full  of  red-cheeked  apples  striped  with  emerald  and  gold. 
November  followed,  with  its  nipping  frost,  and  all  St. 
George's  merry  green  fields  turned  brown  and  purple-gray. 
The  old  year  was  waning  fast. 

The  Queen's  Day  was  but  a  poor  holiday,  in  spite  of  the 
shut-up  shops;  for  it  was  grown  so  cold  with  sleet  and 
rain  that  it  was  hard  to  get  about,  the  gutters  and  streets 
being  very  foul,  and  the  by-lanes  impassable.  And  now 
the  children  of  Paul's  gave  no  more  plays  in  the  yard  of 
the  Mitre  Inn,  but  sang  in  their  own  warm  hall;  for 
winter  was  at  hand. 

There  came  black  nights  when  an  ugly  wind  moaned  in 
the  shivering  chimneys  and  howled  across  the  peaked 
roofs,  nights  when  there  was  no  playing  at  the  Rose,  but 
it  was  hearty  to  be  by  the  fire.  Then  sometimes  Carew 
sat  at  home  all  evening  long,  with  Cicely  upon  his  knee, 
and  told  strange  tales  of  lands  across  the  sea,  where  he 
had  traveled  when  he  was  young,  and  where  none  spoke 


172  MASTER  SKYLARK 

English  but  chance  travelers,  and  even  the  loudest  shouting 
could  not  serve  to  make  the  people  understand. 

While  he  spun  these  wondrous  yarns  Nick  would  curl 
up  on  the  hearth  and  blow  the  crackling  fire,  sometimes 
staring  at  the  master-player's  stories,  sometimes  laughing 
to  himself  at  the  funny  faces  carved  upon  the  sides  of  the 
chubby  Dutch  bellows,  and  sometimes  neither  laughing 
nor  listening,  but  thinking  silently  of  home.  Then  Carew, 
looking  at  him  there,  would  quickly  turn  his  face  away 
and  tell  another  tale. 

But  oftener  the  master-player  stayed  all  night  at  the 
Falcon  Inn  with  Dick  Jones,  Tom  Hearne,  Humphrey 
Jeffs,  and  other  reckless  roysterers,  dicing  and  flipping 
shillings  at  shovel-board  until  his  finger-nails  were  sore. 
Then  Nick  would  read  aloud  to  Cicely  out  of  the  "  Hun- 
dred Merry  Tales,"  or  pop  old  riddles  at  her  puzzled  head 
until  she,  laughing,  cried,  "  Enough ! "  But  most  of  all 
he  liked  the  story  of  brave  Guy  of  Warwick,  and  would 
tell  it  again  and  again,  with  other  legends  of  Arden  Wood, 
till  bedtime  came. 

In  the  gray  of  the  morning  Carew  would  come  home, 
unshaven  and  leaden-eyed,  with  his  bandy-legged  varlet 
trotting  like  a  watch-dog  at  his  heels;  and  then,  if  the 
gaming  had  gone  well,  he  was  a  lord,  an  earl,  a  duke,  at 
least,  so  merry  and  so  sprightly  would  he  be  withal ;  but 
if  the  dice  had  fallen  wrong,  he  would  by  turns  be  raving 
mad  or  sodden  as  a  sunken  pie. 

Yet,  be  his  temper  what  it  might,  he  was  but  one  thing 
always  to  Cicely,  and  doffed  ill  humor  like  a  shabby  hat 


THE  WANING  OF  THE  YEAR  173 

when  she  came  running  to  meet  him  in  the  shadows  of  the 
hall ;  so  that  when  he  came  into  the  lighted  room,  with  her 
upon  his  shoulder,  his  face  was  smiles,  his  step  a  frolic, 
and  his  bearing  that  of  a  happy  boy. 

But  day  by  day  the  weather  grew  worse,  with  snow  and 
ice  paving  the  streets  with  a  glassy  glare  and  choking  the 
frozen  drains ;  and  there  was  trouble  and  want  among  the 
poor  in  the  wretched  alleys  near  Carew's  house :  for  fuel 
was  high  and  food  scarce,  and  there  were  many  deaths,  so 
that  the  knell  was  tolling  constantly. 

Cicely  cried  until  her  eyes  were  red  for  the  very  sadness 
of  it  all,  since  she  might  do  nothing  for  them,  and  hated 
the  sound  of  the  sullen  bell. 

"  Pshaw,  Cicely ! "  said  Nick ;  "  why  should  ye  cry  ?  Ye 
do  na  know  them ;  so  ye  need  na  care." 

"But,  Nick,"  said  she,  "nobody  seems  to  care!  And, 
sure,  somebody  ought  to  care;  for  it  may  be  some  one's 
mother  that  is  dead." 

At  that  Nick  felt  a  very  queer  choking  in  his  own  throat, 
and  did  not  rest  quite  easy  in  his  mind  until  he  had  given 
the  silver  buckle  from  his  cloak  to  a  boy  who  stood  crying 
with  cold  and  hunger  in  the  street,  and  begged  a  farthing 
of  him  for  the  love  of  the  good  God. 

Then  came  a  thaw,  with  mist  and  fog  so  thick  that 
people  were  lost  in  their  own  streets,  and  knocked  at  their 
next-door  neighbor's  gate  to  ask  the  way  home.  All  day 
long,  down  by  the  Thames  drums  beat  upon  the  wharves 
and  bells  ding-donged  to  guide  the  watermen  ashore ;  but 
most  of  those  who  needs  must  fare  abroad  went  over 


174  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

London  Bridge,  because  there,  although  they  might  in  no 
wise  see,  it  felt,  at  least,  as  if  the  world  were  still  beneath 
their  feet. 

At  noon  the  air  was  muddy  brown,  with  a  bitter  taste 
like  watered  smoke ;  at  night  it  was  a  blinding  pall ;  and 
though,  after  mid-December,  by  order  of  the  Council,  every 
alderman  and  burgess  hung  a  light  before  his  door,  torches, 
links,  and  candles  only  sputtered  feebly  in  the  gloom,  of 
no  more  use  than  jack-o'-lanterns  gone  astray,  and  none 
but  blind  men  knew  the  roads. 

The  city  watch  was  doubled  everywhere ;  and  all  night 
long  their  shouts  went  up  and  down— "  'T  is  what  o'clock, 
and  a  foggy  night !  "—and  right  and  left  their  hurrying 
staves  came  thumping  helplessly  along  the  walls  to  answer 
cries  of  "Murder!"  and  of  "Help!  Watch!  Help!" 
For  under  cover  of  the  fog  great  gangs  of  thieves  came 
down  from  Hampstead  Heath,  and  robberies  were  done  in 
the  most  frequented  thoroughfares,  between  the  very  lights 
set  up  by  the  corporation ;  so  that  it  was  dangerous  to  go 
about  save  armed  and  wary  as  a  cat  in  a  crowd. 

While  such  foul  days  endured  there  was  no  singing  at 
St.  Paul's,  nor  stage-plays  anywhere,  save  at  Blackfriars 
play-house,  which  was  roofed  against  the  weather.  And 
even  there  at  last  the  fog  crept  in  through  cracks  and 
crannies  until  the  players  seemed  but  moving  shadows 
talking  through  a  choking  cloud;  and  Master  Will  Shak- 
spere's  famous  new  piece  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  which 
had  been  playing  to  crowded  houses,  taking  ten  pound 
twelve  the  day,  was  fairly  smothered  off  the  boards. 


"NICK  GAVE  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE  FROM  HIS  CLOAK  TO  A  BOY  WHO 
STOOD  CVriSQ  WITH  COLD  AND  HUNGER  IN  THE  STREET. " 


THE  WANING  OF  THE  YEAR  175 

Nick  was  eager  to  be  out  in  all  this  blindman's  holiday ; 
but,  "  Nay,"  said  Carew ;  "  not  so  much  as  thy  nose.  A 
fog  like  this  would  steal  the  croak  from  a  raven's  throat, 
let  alone  the  sweetness  from  a  honey-pot  like  thine— and 
bottom  crust  is  the  end  of  pie !  "  With  which,  bang  went 
the  door,  creak  went  the  key,  and  Carew  was  off  to  the 
Falcon  Inn. 

So  went  the  winter  weather,  and  so  went  Carew;  for 
there  was  no  denying  that  both  had  fallen  into  a  very  bad 
way.  Yet  another  change  came  creeping  over  Carew  all 
unaware. 

Nick's  face  had  from  the  first  attracted  him ;  and  now, 
living  with  the  boy  day  after  day,  housed  up,  a  prisoner, 
yet  cheerful  through  it  all,  the  master-player  began  to  feel 
what  in  a  better  man  had  been  the  prick  of  conscience, 
but  in  him  was  only  an  indefinite  uneasiness  like  a  blunted 
cockle-bur.  For  the  lad's  patient  perseverance  at  his  work, 
his  delight  in  singing,  and  the  tone  of  longing  threaded 
through  his  voice,  crept  into  the  master-player's  heart  in 
spite  of  him ;  and  Nick's  gentle  ways  with  Cicely  touched 
him  more  than  all  the  rest :  for  if  there  was  one  thing  in 
all  the  world  that  Gaston  Carew  truly  loved,  it  was  his 
daughter  Cicely.  So  for  her  sake,  as  well  as  for  Nick's 
own,  the  master-player  came  to  love  the  lad.  And  this 
was  shown  in  queer  ways. 

In  the  wainscot  of  the  dining-hall  there  was  a  carven 
panel  just  above  the  Spanish  chest.  At  night,  when  the 
nouse  was  still  and  all  the  rest  asleep,  Carew  often  came 


176  MASTER  SKYLARK 

and  stood  before  this  panel,  with  a  queer,  hesitating  look 
upon  his  hard,  bold  face ;  and  stretching  out  his  hand, 
would  press  upon  the  head  of  a  cherub  cut  in  the  bevel 
edge.  Whereupon  the  panel  slipped  away  within  the 
wainscot,  leaving  a  little  closet  in  the  hollow  of  the  wall, 
in  which  a  few  strange  things  were  stowed:  an  empty 
flask,  an  inlaid  rosewood  box,  a  little  slipper,  and  a  dusty 
gittern  with  its  strings  all  snapped  and  a  faded  ribbon  tied 
about  its  neck. 

The  rosewood  box  he  would  take  down,  and  with  it  open 
in  his  lap  would  sit  beside  the  fire  like  a  man  within  a 
dream,  until  the  hearth  grew  white  and  cold,  and  the 
draught  had  blown  the  ashes  out  in  streaks  across  the 
floor.  In  the  box  was  a  woman's  riding-glove  and  a  minia- 
ture upon  ivory,  Cicely's  mother's  face,  painted  at  Paris 
in  other  days. 

One  night,  while  they  were  sitting  all  together  by  the 
fire,  Nick  and  Cicely  snug  in  the  chimney-seat,  Carew 
spoke  up  suddenly  out  of  a  little  silence  which  had  fallen 
upon  them  all.  "  Nick,"  said  he,  quite  softly,  with  a  look 
on  his  face  as  if  he  were  thinking  of  other  things,  "I 
wonder  if  thou  couldst  play  ? " 

"What,  sir?"  asked  Nick;  "a  game?"  and  made  the 
bellows  whistle  in  his  mouth. 

"  Nay,  lad ;  a  gittern." 

Nick  and  Cicely  looked  up,  for  his  manner  was  very 
odd. 

"  Why,  sir,  I  do  na  know.  I  could  try.  I  ha'  heard  one 
played,  and  it  is  passing  sweet." 


THE  WANING  OP  THE  YEAR  177 

"  Ay,  Nick,  't  is  passing  sweet,"  said  Carew,  quickly— and 
no  more ;  but  spoke  of  France,  how  the  lilies  grow  in  the 
ditches  there,  and  the  tall  trees  stand  like  soldiers  by  the 
road  that  runs  to  the  land  of  sunny  hills  and  wine ;  and  of 
the  radiant  women  there,  with  hair  like  night  and  eyes  like 
the  summer  stars.  Then  all  at  once  he  stopped  as  if  some 
one  had  clapped  a  hand  upon  his  mouth,  and  sat  and  stared 
into  the  fire. 

But  in  the  morning  at  breakfast  there  was  a  gittern  at 
Nick's  place— a  rare  old  yellow  gittern,  with  silver  scrolls 
about  the  tail-piece,  ivory  pegs,  and  a  head  that  ended  in 
an  angel's  face.  It  was  strung  with  bright  new  silver 
strings,  but  near  the  bridge  of  it  there  was  a  little  rut  worn 
into  the  wood  by  the  tips  of  the  fingers  that  had  rested 
there  while  playing,  and  the  silken  shoulder-ribbon  was 
faded  and  worn. 

Nick  stopped,  then  put  out  both  his  hands  as  if  to  touch 
it,  yet  did  not,  being  half  afraid. 

"  Tut,  take  it  up ! "  said  Carew,  sharply,  though  he  had 
not  seemed  to  heed.  "  Take  it  up— it  is  for  thee." 

"  For  me  ? "  cried  Nick—  "  not  for  mine  own  f " 

Carew  turned  and  struck  the  table  with  his  hand,  as  if 
suddenly  wroth.  "  Why  should  I  say  it  was  for  thee,  if  it 
were  not  to  be  thine  own  ? " 

"  But,  Master  Carew—"  Nick  began. 

" '  Master  Carew '  fiddlesticks !  Hold  thy  prate.  Do  I 
know  my  own  mind,  or  do  I  filter  my  wits  through  thee  ? 
Did  I  not  say  that  it  is  thine  ?  Good,  then— 't  is  thine,  al- 
though it  were  thrice  somebody  else's ;  and  thrice  as  much 

13 


178  MASTER  SKYLARK 

thy  very  own  through  having  other  owners.     Dost  hear  ? 
Well,  then,  enough— we  '11  have  no  words  about  it ! " 

Rising  abruptly  as  he  spoke,  he  clapped  his  hat  upon  his 
head  and  left  the  room,  Nick  standing  there  beside  the 
table,  staring  after  him,  with  the  gittern  in  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

TO   SING  BEFORE  THE  QUEEN 

"Sir  Fly  hangs  dead  on  the  window-pane; 

The  frost  doth  wind  his  shroud ; 
Through  the  halls  of  his  little  summer  house 

The  north  wind  cries  aloud. 
We  will  bury  his  bones  in  the  mouldy  wall, 

And  mourn  for  the  noble  slain : 
A  southerly  wind  and  a  sunny  sky — 
Buzz  !  up  he  comes  again '. 

Oh,  Master  Ply!" 

NICK  looked  up  from  the  music-rack  and  shivered. 
He  had  forgotten  the  fire  in  studying  his  song,  and 
the  blackened  ends  of  the  burnt-out  logs  lay  smouldering 
on  the  hearth.  The  draught,  too,  whistled  shrilly  under 
the  door,  in  spite  of  the  rushes  that  he  had  piled  along  the 
crack. 

The  fog  had  been  gone  for  a  week.  It  was  snapping 
cold ;  and  through  the  peep-holes  he  had  thawed  upon  the 
window-pane  with  his  breath,  he  could  see  the  hoar-frost 
lying  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall  in  the  court  below. 

How  forlorn  the  green  old  dial  looked  out  there  alone 

179 


180  MASTER  SKYLAEK 

in  the  cold,  with  the  winter  dust  whirling  around  it  in 
little  eddies  upon  the  wind !  The  dial  was  fringed  with 
icicles,  like  an  old  man's  beard;  and  even  the  creeping 
shadow  on  its  face,  which  told  mid-afternoon,  seemed 
frozen  where  it  fell. 

Mid-afternoon  already,  and  he  so  much  to  do!     Nick 
pulled  his  cloak  about  him,  and  turned  to  his  song  again  : 

"  Sir  Fly  hangs  dead  on  the  window-pane ; 
The  frost  doth  wind  his  shroud—" 

But  there  he  stopped ;  for  the  boys  were  singing  in  the 
great  hall  below,  and  the  whole  house  rang  with  the  sound 
of  the  roaring  chorus  : 

"  Down-a-down,  hey,  down-a-down, 
Hey  deny  derry  down-a-down ! " 

Nick  put  his  fingers  in  his  ears,  and  began  all  over 
again: 

"  Sir  Fly  hangs  dead  on  the  window-pane ; 

The  frost  doth  wind  his  shroud ; 
Through  the  halls  of  his  little  summer  house 
The  north  wind  cries  aloud." 

But  it  was  no  use ;  all  he  could  hear  was : 

"Down-a-down,  hey,  down-a-down, 
Hey  derry  derry  down-a-down ! " 

How  could  a  fellow  study  in  a  noise  like  that  ?    He  gave 
it  up  in  despair,  and  kicking  the  chunks  together,  stood 


TO  SING  BEFORE  THE  QUEEN  181 

upon  the  hearth,  warming  his  hands  by  the  gathering 
blaze  while  he  listened  to  the  song: 

"Cold  's  the  wind,  and  wet 's  the  rain ; 

Saint  Hugh,  be  our  good  speed ! 
HI  is  the  weather  that  bringeth  no  gain, 
Nor  helps  good  hearts  in  need. 

"  Down-a-down,  hey,  down-a-down, 
Hey  deny  deny  down-a-down ! " 

He  could  hear  Colley  Warren  above  them  all.  What  a 
voice  the  boy  had !  Like  a  golden  horn  blowing  in  the 
fresh  of  a  morning  breeze.  It  made  Nick  tingle,  he  could 
not  tell  why.  He  and  Colley  often  sang  together,  and  their 
voices  made  a  quivering  in  the  air  like  the  ringing  of  a 
bell.  And  often,  while  they  sang,  the  viols  standing  in 
the  corner  of  the  room  would  sound  aloud  a  deep,  soft 
note  in  harmony  with  them,  although  nobody  had  touched 
the  strings ;  so  that  the  others  cried  out  that  the  instru- 
ments were  bewitched,  and  would  not  let  the  boys  sing 
any  more.  Colley  Warren  was  Nick's  best  friend— a  dark- 
eyed,  quiet  lad,  as  gentle  as  a  girl,  and  with  a  mouth  like 
a  girl's  mouth,  for  which  the  others  sometimes  mocked  him, 
though  they  loved  him  none  the  less. 

It  was  not  because  his  voice  was  loud  that  it  could  be 
so  distinctly  heard ;  but  it  was  nothing  like  the  rest,  and 
came  through  all  the  others  like  sunshine  through  a  mist 
Nick  pulled  the  stool  up  closer,  and  sat  down  in  the  chim- 
ney-corner, humming  a  second  to  the  tune,  and  blowing 
little  glory-holes  in  the  embers  with  the  bellows.  He  liked 


182  MASTER  SKYLARK 

the  smell  of  a  wood  fire,  and  liked  to  toast  his  toes.  He 
was  a  trifle  drowsy,  too,  now  that  he  was  warm  again  to 
the  marrow  of  his  bones ;  perhaps  he  dozed  a  little. 

But  suddenly  he  came  to  himself  again  with  a  sense  of 
a  great  stillness  fallen  over  everything— no  singing  in  the 
room  below,  and  silence  everywhere  but  in  the  court,  where 
there  was  a  trampling  as  of  horses  standing  at  the  gate. 
And  while  he  was  still  lazily  wondering,  a  great  cheer  broke 
out  in  the  room  below,  and  there  was  a  stamping  of  feet 
like  cattle  galloping  over  a  bridge ;  and  then,  all  at  once, 
the  door  opened  into  the  hallway  at  the  foot  of  the  stair, 
and  the  sound  burst  out  as  fire  bursts  from  the  cock-loft 
window  of  a  burning  barn,  and  through  the  noise  and  over 
it  Colley  Warren's  voice  calling  him  by  name :  "  Skylark ! 
Nick  Skylark !  Ho  there,  Nick !  where  art  thou  ? " 

He  sprang  to  the  door  and  kicked  the  rushes  away.  All 
the  hall  was  full  of  voices,  laughing,  shouting,  singing, 
and  cheering.  There  were  footsteps  coming  up  the  stair. 
' '  What  there,  Skylark !  Ho,  boy !  Nick,  where  art  thou  ? " 
he  could  hear  Colley  calling  above  them  all.  Out  he  popped 
his  nose :  "  Here  I  am,  Colley— what 's  to  do  ?  Whatever 
in  the  world ! "  and  he  ducked  his  head  like  a  mandarin ; 
for  whizz— flap !  two  books  came  whirling  up  the  stair  and 
thumped  against  the  panel  by  his  ears. 

"  The  news— the  news,  Nick !  Have  ye  heard  the  news  ?  " 
the  lads  were  shouting  as  if  possessed.  "  We  're  going  to 
court !  Hurrah,  hurrah !  "  And  some,  with  their  arms 
about  one  another,  went  whirling  out  at  the  door  and 
around  the  windy  close  like  very  madcaps,  cutting  such 


TO  SING  BEFORE  THE  QUEEN  i83 

capers  that  the  horses  standing  at  the  gate  kicked  up  their 
heels,  and  jerked  the  horse-boys  right  and  left  like  bundles 
of  hay. 

Nick  leaned  over  the  railing  and  stared. 

"  Come  down  and  help  us  sing ! "  they  cried.  "  Come 
down  and  shout  with  us  in  the  street ! " 

"  I  can  na  come  down— there  's  work  to  do ! " 

"Thy  'can  na'  be  hanged,  and  thy  work  likewise! 
Come  down  and  sing,  or  we  '11  fetch  thee  down.  The 
Queen  hath  sent  for  us ! " 

"  The  Queen— hath  sent— for  us  ? " 

"  Ay,  sent  for  us  to  come  to  court  and  play  on  Christmas 
day !  Hurrah  for  Queen  Bess ! " 

At  that  shrill  cheer  the  startled  horses  fairly  plunged 
into  the  street,  and  the  carts  that  were  passing  along  the 
way  were  jammed  against  the  opposite  wall.  The  carriers 
bellowed,  the  horse-boys  bawled,  the  people  came  running 
to  see  the  row,  and  the  apprentices  flew  out  of  the  shops 
bareheaded,  waving  their  dirty  aprons  and  cheering  lustily, 
just  for  the  fun  of  the  chance  to  cheer. 

"  It 's  true ! "  called  Colley,  his  dark  eyes  dancing  like 
stars  on  the  sea.  "Come  down,  Nick,  and  sing  in  the 
street  with  us  all !  We  are  going  to  Greenwich  Palace  on 
Christmas  day  to  play  before  the  Queen  and  the  court— for 
the  first  time,  Nick,  in  a  good  six  years ;  and  we  're  not  to 
work  till  the  new  masque  comes  from  the  Master  of  the 
Revels !  Come  down,  Nick,  and  sing  with  us  out  in  the 
street ;  for  we  're  going  to  court,  we  're  going  to  court  to 
sing  before  the  Queen !  Hurrah,  hurrah  ! " 


184  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Hurrah  for  good  Queen  Bess ! "  cried  Nick ;  and  up 
went  his  cap  and  down  went  he  on  the  baluster-rail  like  a 
runaway  sled,  head  first  into  the  crowd,  who  caught  him 
laughing  as  he  came.  Then  all  together  they  cantered 
out  like  a  parcel  of  colts  in  a  fresh,  green  field,  and  sang 
in  the  street  before  the  school  till  the  people  cheered  them- 
selves hoarse  to  hear  such  music  on  such  a  wintry  day ; 
sang  until  there  was  no  other  business  on  all  the  thorough- 
fare but  just  to  listen  to  their  songs ;  sang  until  the  under- 
masters  came  out  with  their  staves  and  drove  them  into 
the  school  again,  to  keep  them  from  straining  their  throats 
by  singing  so  loudly  and  so  long  in  the  frosty  open  air. 

But  a  fig  for  staves  and  for  under-masters !  The  boys 
clapped  fast  the  gates  behind  them,  and  barred  the  under- 
masters  out  in  the  street,  singing  twice  as  loudly  as  before, 
and  mocking  at  them  with  wry  faces  through  the  bars ; 
and  then  trooped  off  up  the  old  precentor's  private  stair 
and  sang  at  his  door  until  the  old  man  could  not  hear  his 
own  ears,  and  came  out  storming  and  grim  as  grief. 

But  when  he  saw  the  boys  all  there,  and  heard  them 
cheering  him  three  times  three,  he  could  not  storm  to  save 
his  life,  but  only  stood  there,  black  and  thin,  against  the 
yellow  square  of  light,  smiling  a  quaint  smile  that  half 
was  wrinkles  and  half  was  pride,  shaking  his  lean  fore- 
finger at  them  as  if  he  were  beating  time,  and  nodding 
until  his  head  seemed  almost  nodding  off. 

"  Hurrah  for  Master  Nathaniel  Gyles ! "  they  shouted. 

"Primus  Magister  Scholarum,  Gustos  Morum,  Quartus 
Custos  Rotulorum,"  said  the  old  man  softly  to  himself,  the 


TO  SING  BEFORE  THE  QUEEN  185 

firelight  from  behind  him  falling  in  a  glory  on  his  thin 
white  hair.  "  Be  off,  ye  rogues !  Ye  are  not  fit  to  waste 
good  language  on ;  or,  faith,  I  'd  Latin  ye  all  as  dumb  as 
fishes  in  the  depths  of  the  briny  sea ! " 

"  Hurrah  for  the  fishes  in  the  sea ! " 

"Soft,  ye  knaves!  Save  thy  throats  for  good  Queer 
Bess ! " 

"  Hurrah  for  good  Queen  Bess ! n 

"Be  still,  I  say,  ye  good-for-nothing  varlets;  or  ye 
sha'n't  have  pie  and  ale  to-night.  But  marry,  now,  ye 
shall  have  pie— ay,  pie  and  ale  without  a  stint ;  for  ye  are 
good  lads,  and  ye  have  pleased  the  Queen  at  last ;  and  I  am 
as  proud  of  ye  as  a  peacock  is  of  his  own  tail ! " 

"Hurrah  for  the  Queen— and  the  pie— and  the  ale! 
Hurrah  for  the  peacock  and  his  tail !  "  shouted  the  boys ; 
and  straightway,  seeing  that  they  had  made  a  rhyme,  they 
gave  a  cheer  shriller  and  longer  than  all  the  others  put 
together,  and  went  clattering  down  the  stairway,  singing 
at  the  top  of  their  lungs : 

"Hurrah  for  the  Queen,  and  the  pie  and  the  ale  I 
Hurrah  for  the  peacock,  hurrah  for  his  tail ! 
Hurrah  for  hurrah,  and  hurrah  again— 
We  're  going  to  court  on  Christmas  day 
To  sing  before  the  Queen ! " 

"  Good  lads,  good  lads !  "  said  the  old  precentor  to  him- 
self, as  he  turned  back  into  his  little  room.  His  eyes  were 
shining  proudly  in  the  candle-light,  yet  the  tears  were 
running  down  his  cheeks.  A  queer  old  man,  Nat  Gyles, 


186  MASTER  SKYLARK 

and  dead  this  many  a  long,  long  year  j  yet  that  night  no 
man  was  happier  than  he. 

But  Master  Gaston  Carew,  who  had  come  for  Nick,  stood 
in  the  gathering  dusk  by  the  gate  below,  and  stared  up  at 
the  yellow  square  of  light  with  a  troubled  look  upon  his 
reckless  face. 


CHAPTER  XXVH 

THE  QUEEN'S  PLAISANCE 

IT  was  a  frosty  morning  when  they  all  marched  down 
to  the  boats  that  bumped  along  Paul's  wharf. 

The  roofs  of  London  were  white  with  frost  and  rosy 
with  the  dawn.  In  the  shadow  of  the  walls  the  air  lay  in 
still  pools  of  smoky  blue;  and  in  the  east  the  horizon 
stretched  like  a  swamp  of  fire.  The  winking  lights  on 
London  Bridge  were  pale.  The  bridge  itself  stood  cold 
and  gray,  mysterious  and  dim  as  the  stream  below,  but 
here  and  there  along  its  crest  red-hot  with  a  touch  of  flame 
from  the  burning  eastern  sky.  Out  of  the  river,  running 
inland  with  the  tide,  came  steamy  shreds  that  drifted  here 
and  there.  Then  over  the  roofs  of  London  town  the  sun 
sprang  up  like  a  thing  of  life,  and  the  veil  of  twilight  van- 
ished in  bright  day  with  a  million  sparkles  rippling  on  the 
stream. 

Warm  with  piping  roast  and  cordial,  keen  with  excite- 
ment, and  blithe  with  the  sharp,  fresh  air,  the  red-cheeked 
lads  skipped  and  chattered  along  the  landing  like  a  flock 
of  sparrows  alighted  by  chance  in  a  land  of  crumbs. 

187 


188  MASTER  SKYLAKK 

"  Into  the  wherries,  every  one !  "  cried  the  old  precentor. 
"  Ad  unum  omnes,  great  and  small ! " 

"  Into  the  wherries !  "  echoed  the  under-masters. 

"  Into  the  wherries,  my  bullies !  "  roared  old  Brueton  the 
boatman,  fending  off  with  a  rusty  hook  as  red  as  his  bris- 
tling beard.  "  Into  the  wherries,  yarely  all,  and  we 's  catch 
the  turn  o'  the  tide !  'T  is  gone  high  water  now !  " 

Then  away  they  went,  three  wherries  full,  and  Master 
Gyles  behind  them  in  a  brisk  sixpenny  tilt-boat,  resplen- 
dent in  new  ash-colored  hose,  a  cloak  of  black  velvet 
fringed  with  gold,  and  a  brand-new  periwig  curled  and 
frizzed  like  a  brush-heap  in  a  gale  of  wind. 

How  they  had  worked  for  the  last  few  days !  New  songs, 
new  dances,  new  lines  to  learn ;  gallant  compliments  for 
the  Queen,  who  was  as  fond  of  flattery  as  a  girl ;  new 
clothes,  new  slippers  and  caps  to  try,  and  a  thousand 
what-nots  more.  The  school  had  hummed  like  a  busy 
mill  from  morning  until  night.  And  now  that  the  grind- 
ing was  done  and  they  had  come  at  last  to  their  reward,— 
the  hoped-for  summons  to  the  court,  which  had  been 
sought  so  long  in  vain,— the  boys  of  St.  Paul's  bubbled 
with  glee  until  the  under-masters  were  in  a  cold  sweat  for 
fear  their  precious  charges  would  pop  from  ihe  wherries 
into  the  Thames,  like  so  many  exuberant  corks. 

They  cheered  with  delight  as  London  Bridge  was  shot 
and  the  boats  went  flying  down  the  Pool,  past  Billingsgate 
and  the  oystermen,  the  White  Tower  and  the  Traitors' 
Gate,  past  the  shipping,  where  brown,  foreign-looking 
faces  stared  at  them  above  sea-battered  bulwarks. 


THE  QUEEN'S  PLAISANCE  189 

The  sun  was  bright  and  the  wind  was  keen;  the  air 
sparkled,  and  all  the  world  was  full  of  life.  Hammers 
beat  in  the  builders'  yards ;  wild  bargees  sang  hoarsely  as 
they  drifted  down  to  the  Isle  of  Dogs ;  and  in  slow  ships 
that  crept  away  to  catch  the  wind  in  the  open  stream 
below,  with  tawny  sails  drooping  and  rimmed  with  frost, 
they  heard  the  hail  of  salty  mariners. 

The  tide  ran  strong,  and  the  steady  oars  carried  them 
swiftly  down.  London  passed ;  then  solitary  hamlets  here 
and  there ;  then  dun  fields  running  to  the  river's  edge  like 
thirsty  deer. 

In  Deptford  Reach  some  lords  who  were  coming  down 
by  water  passed  them,  racing  with  a  little  Dutch  boat  from 
Deptford  to  the  turn.  Their  boats  had  holly-bushes  at 
their  prows  and  holiday  garlands  along  their  sides.  They 
were  all  shouting  gaily,  and  the  stream  was  bright  with 
their  scarlet  cloaks,  Lincoln-green  jerkins,  and  gold  em- 
broidery. But  they  were  very  badly  beaten,  at  which 
they  laughed,  and  threw  the  Dutchmen  a  handful  of  silver 
pennies.  Thereupon  the  Dutchmen  stood  up  in  their  boat 
and  bowed  like  jointed  ninepins ;  and  the  lords,  not  to  be 
outdone,  stood  up  likewise  in  their  boats  and  bowed  very 
low  in  return,  with  their  hands  upon  their  breasts.  Then 
everybody  on  the  river  laughed,  and  the  boys  gave  three 
cheers  for  the  merry  lords  and  three  more  for  the  sturdy 
Dutchmen.  The  Dutchmen  shouted  back,  "  Goot  Yule ! ' 
and  bowed  and  bowed  until  their  boat  turned  round  and 
went  stern  foremost  down  the  stream,  so  that  they  were 
bowing  to  the  opposite  bank,  where  no  one  was  at  alL  At 


190  MASTER  SKYLARK 

this  the  rest  all  laughed  again  till  their  sides  ached,  and 
cheered  them  twice  as  much  as  they  had  before. 

And  while  they  were  cheering  and  waving  their  caps, 
the  boatmen  rested  upon  their  oars  and  let  the  boats  swing 
with  the  tide,  which  thereabout  set  strong  against  the 
shore,  and  a  trumpeter  in  the  Earl  of  Arundel's  barge 
stood  up  and  blew  upon  a  long  horn  bound  with  a  banner 
of  blue  and  gold. 

Instantly  he  had  blown,  another  trumpet  answered  from 
the  south,  and  when  Nick  turned,  the  shore  was  gay  with 
men  in  brilliant  livery.  Beyond  was  a  wood  of  chestnut- 
trees  as  blue  and  leafless  as  a  grove  of  spears ;  and  in  the 
plain  between  the  river  and  the  wood  stood  a  great  palace 
of  gray  stone,  with  turrets,  pinnacles,  and  battlemented 
walls,  over  the  topmost  tower  of  which  a  broad  flag,  blazoned 
with  golden  lions  and  silver  lilies  square  for  square,  whipped 
the  winter  wind.  Amid  a  group  of  towers  large  and 
small  a  lofty  stack  poured  out  a  plume  of  sea-coal  smoke 
against  the  milky  sky,  and  on  the  countless  windows  in 
the  wall  the  sunlight  flashed  with  dazzling  radiance. 

There  were  people  on  the  battlements,  and  at  the  port 
between  two  towers  where  the  Queen  went  in  and  out  the 
press  was  so  thick  that  men's  heads  looked  like  the  cobbles 
in  the  street. 

The  shore  was  stayed  with  piling  and  with  timbers  like 
a  wharf,  so  that  a  hundred  boats  might  lie  there  cheek  by 
jowl  and  scarcely  rub  their  paint.  The  lords  made  way, 
and  the  children  players  came  ashore  through  an  aisle  of 
uplifted  oars.  They  were  met  by  the  yeomen  of  the  guard, 


THE  QUEEN'S  PLAISANCE  191 

tall,  brawny  fellows  clad  in  red,  with  golden  roses  on  their 
breasts  and  backs,  and  with  them  marched  up  to  the  pos- 
tern two  and  two,  Master  Gyles  the  last  of  all,  as  haughty 
as  a  Spanish  don  come  courting  fair  Queen  Bess. 

A  smoking  dinner  was  waiting  them,  of  whitebait  with 
red  pepper,  and  a  yellow  juice  so  sour  that  Nick's  mouth 
drew  up  in  a  knot ;  but  it  was  very  good.  There  were  be- 
sides, silver  dishes  full  of  sugared  red  currants,  and  heaps 
of  comfits  and  sweetmeats,  which  Master  Gyles  would  not 
allow  them  even  to  touch,  and  saffron  cakes  with  raisins 
in  them,  and  spiced  hot  cordial  out  of  tiny  silver  cups. 
Bareheaded  pages  clad  in  silk  and  silver  lace  waited  upon 
them  as  if  they  were  fledgling  kings ;  but  the  boys  were 
too  hungry  to  care  for  that  or  to  try  to  put  on  airs,  and 
waded  into  the  meat  and  drink  as  if  they  had  been  starved 
for  a  fortnight. 

But  when  they  were  done  Nick  saw  that  the  table  off 
which  they  had  eaten  was  inlaid  with  pearl  and  silver  fili- 
gree, and  that  the  table-cloth  was  of  silk  with  woven  metal- 
work  and  gems  set  in  it  worth  more  than  a  thousand 
crowns.  He  was  very  glad  he  had  eaten  first,  for  such 
wonderful  service  would  have  taken  away  his  appetite. 

And  truly  a  wonderful  palace  was  the  Queen's  Plaisance, 
as  Greenwich  House  was  called.  Elizabeth  was  born  in  it, 
and  so  loved  it  most  of  all.  There  she  pleased  oftenest  to 
receive  and  grant  audiences  to  envoys  from  foreign  courts. 
And  there,  on  that  account,  as  was  always  her  proud, 
jealous  way,  she  made  a  blinding  show  of  glory  and  of 
wealth,  of  science,  art,  and  power,  that  England,  to  the 


192  MASTER  SKYLARK 

eyes  which  saw  her  there,  might  stand  in  second  place  to 
no  dominion  in  the  world,  however  rich  or  great. 

It  was  a  very  house  of  gold. 

Over  the  door  where  the  lads  marched  in  was  the  Queen's 
device,  a  golden  rose,  with  a  motto  set  below  in  letters  of 
gold,  "Dieu  et  mon  droit"  ;  and  upon  the  walls  were 
blazoned  coats  of  noble  arms  on  branching  golden  trees, 
of  purest  metal  and  finest  silk,  costly  beyond  compare.  The 
royal  presence-chamber  shone  with  tapestries  of  gold,  of 
silver,  and  of  oriental  silks,  of  as  many  shifting  colors  as 
the  birds  of  paradise,  and  wrought  in  exquisite  design. 
The  throne  was  set  with  diamonds,  with  rubies,  garnets, 
and  sapphires,  glittering  like  a  pastry-crust  of  stars,  and 
garnished  with  gold-lace  work,  pearls,  and  ornament ;  and 
under  the  velvet  canopy  which  hung  above  the  throne  was 
embroidered  in  seed-pearls,  "  Vivat  Regina  Elizabetha !  " 
There  was  no  door  without  a  gorgeous  usher,  no  room 
without  a  page,  no  corridor  without  a  guard,  no  post  with- 
out a  man  of  noble  birth  to  fill  it. 

On  the  walls  of  the  great  gallery  were  masterly  paint- 
ings of  great  folk,  globes  showing  all  the  stars  fast  in  the 
sky,  and  drawings  of  the  world  and  all  its  parts,  so  real 
that  one  could  see  the  savages  in  the  New  World  hanging 
to  the  under  side  by  their  feet,  like  flies  upon  the  ceiling. 
How  they  stuck  was  more  than  Nick  could  make  out ;  and 
where  they  landed  if  they  chanced  to  slip  and  fall  troubled 
him  a  deal,  until  in  the  sheer  multiplication  of  wonders 
he  could  not  wonder  any  more. 

When  they  came  to  rehearse  in  the  afternoon  the  stage 


THE  QUEEN'S  PLAISANCE  193 

was  hung  with  stiff,  rich  silks  that  had  come  in  costly 
cedar  chests  from  the  looms  of  old  Cathay ;  and  the  curtain 
behind  which  the  players  came  and  went  was  broidered 
with  gold  thread  in  flowers  and  birds  like  meteors  for 
splendor.  The  gallery,  too,  where  the  musicians  sat,  was 
draped  with  silk  and  damask. 

Some  of  the  lads  would  have  made  out  by  their  great 
airs  as  if  this  were  all  a  common  thing  to  them ;  but  Nick 
stared  honestly  with  round  eyes,  and  went  about  with  cau- 
tious feet,  chary  of  touching  things,  and  f eeling  very  much 
out  of  place  and  shy. 

It  was  all  too  grand,  too  wonderful,— amazing  to  look 
upon,  no  doubt,  and  good  to  outface  foreign  envy  with, 
but  not  to  be  endured  every  day  nor  lived  with  comfor- 
tably. And  as  the  day  went  by,  each  passing  moment  with 
new  marvels,  Nick  grew  more  and  more  uneasy  for  some 
simple  little  nook  where  he  might  just  sit  down  and  be 
quiet  for  a  while,  as  one  could  do  at  home,  without  fine 
pages  peering  at  him  from  the  screens,  or  splendid  guards 
patrolling  at  his  heels  wherever  he  went,  or  obsequious 
ushers  bowing  to  the  floor  at  every  turn,  and  asking  him 
what  he  might  be  pleased  to  wish.  And  by  the  time  night 
fell  and  the  attendant  came  to  light  them  to  their  beds,  he 
felt  like  a  fly  on  the  rim  of  a  wheel  that  went  so  fast  he 
could  scarcely  get  his  breath  or  see  what  passed  him  by, 
yet  of  which  he  durst  not  let  go. 

The  palace  was  much  too  much  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVHI 

CHRISTMAS   WITH  QUEEN  BESS 

/CHRISTMAS  morning  came  and  went  as  if  on  swal- 
\J  low-wings,  in  a  gale  of  royal  merriment.  Four  hun- 
dred sat  to  dinner  that  day  in  Greenwich  halls,  and  all  the 
palace  streamed  with  banners  and  green  garlands. 

Within  the  courtyard  two  hundred  horses  neighed  and 
stamped  around  a  water-fountain  playing  in  a  bowl  of  ice 
and  evergreen.  Grooms  and  pages,  hostlers  and  dames, 
went  hurry-scurrying  to  and  fro ;  cooks,  bakers,  and  scul- 
lions steamed  about,  leaving  hot,  mouth-watering  streaks 
of  fragrance  in  the  air ;  bluff  men-at-arms  went  whistling 
here  and  there  ;  and  serving-maids  with  rosy  cheeks  ran 
breathlessly  up  and  down  the  winding  stairways. 

The  palace  stirred  like  a  mighty  pot  that  boils  to  its  ut- 
most verge,  for  the  hour  of  the  revelries  was  come. 

Over  the  beech-wood  and  far  across  the  black  heath 
where  Jack  Cade  marshaled  the  men  of  Kent,  the  wind 
trembled  with  the  boom  of  the  castle  bell.  Within  the 
walls  of  the  palace  its  clang  was  muffled  by  a  sound  of 
voices  that  rose  and  fell  like  the  wind  upon  the  sea. 

194 


CHRISTMAS  WITH  QUEEN  BESS  195 

The  ambassadors  of  Venice  and  France  were  there,  with 
their  courtly  trains.  The  Lord  High  Constable  of  England 
was  come  to  sit  below  the  Queen.  The  earls,  too,  of  South- 
ampton, Montgomery,  Pembroke,  and  Huntington  were 
there ;  and  William  Cecil,  Lord  Burleigh,  the  Queen's  High 
Treasurer,  to  smooth  his  care-lined  forehead  with  a  Yule- 
tide  jest. 

Up  from  the  entry  ports  came  shouts  of  "  Room !  room ! 
room  for  my  Lord  Strange !  Room  for  the  Duke  of  Devon- 
shire ! "  and  about  the  outer  gates  there  was  a  tumult  like 
the  cheering  of  a  great  crowd. 

The  palace  corridors  were  lined  with  guards.  Gentle- 
men pensioners  under  arms  went  flashing  to  and  fro. 
Now  and  then  through  the  inner  throng  some  handsome 
page  with  wind-blown  hair  and  rainbow-colored  cloak 
pushed  to  the  great  door,  calling :  "  Way,  sirs,  way  for  my 
Lord— way  for  my  Lady  of  Alderstone ! "  and  one  by  one, 
or  in  blithe  groups,  the  courtiers,  clad  in  silks  and  satins, 
velvets,  jewels,  and  lace  of  gold,  came  up  through  the 
lofty  folding-doors  to  their  places  in  the  halL 

There,  where  the  Usher  of  the  Black  Rod  stood,  and  the 
gentlemen  of  the  chamber  came  and  went  with  golden 
chains  about  their  necks,  was  bowing  and  scraping  with- 
out stint,  and  reverent  civility ;  for  men  that  were  wise 
and  noble  were  passing  by,  men  that  were  handsome  and 
brave;  and  ladies  sweet  as  a  summer  day,  and  as  fair  to 
see  as  spring,  laughed  by  their  sides  and  chatted  behind 
their  fans,  or  daintily  nibbled  comfits,  lacking  anything 
to  say. 


196  MASTER  SKYLARK 

The  windows  were  all  curtained  in,  making  a  night-time 
in  midday ;  and  from  the  walls  and  galleries  flaring  links 
and  great  bouquets  of  candles  threw  an  eddying  flood  of 
yellow  light  across  the  stirring  scene.  From  clump  to 
clump  of  banner-staves  and  burnished  arms,  spiked  above 
the  wainscot,  garlands  of  red-berried  holly,  spruce,  and 
mistletoe  were  twined  across  the  tapestry,  till  all  the  room 
was  bound  about  with  a  chain  of  living  green. 

There  were  sweet  odors  floating  through  the  air,  and 
hazy  threads  of  fragrant  smoke  from  perfumes  burning 
in  rich  braziers ;  and  under  foot  was  the  crisp,  clean  rustle 
of  new  rushes. 

From  time  to  time,  above  the  hum  of  voices,  came  the 
sound  of  music  from  a  room  beyond— cornets  and  flutes, 
fifes,  lutes,  and  harps,  with  an  organ  exquisitely  played, 
and  voices  singing  to  it;  and  from  behind  the  players' 
curtain,  swaying  slowly  on  its  rings  at  the  back  of  the 
stage,  came  a  murmur  of  whispering  childish  voices,  now 
high  in  eager  questioning,  now  low,  rehearsing  some 
doubtful  fragment  of  a  song. 

Behind  the  curtain  it  was  dark— not  total  darkness,  but 
twilight;  for  a  dull  glow  came  down  overhead  from  the 
lights  in  the  hall  without,  and  faint  yellow  bars  went  up 
and  down  the  dusk  from  crevices  in  the  screen.  The  boys 
stood  here  and  there  in  nervous  groups.  Now  and  then 
a  sharp  complaint  was  heard  from  the  tire- woman  when 
an  impatient  lad  would  not  stand  still  to  be  dressed. 

Master  Gyles  went  to  and  fro,  twisting  the  manuscript 
of  the  Bevel  in  his  hands,  or  pausing  kindly  to  pat  some 


CHRISTMAS  WITH  QUEEN  BESS  197 

faltering  lad  upon  the  back.  Nick  and  Colley  were  peep- 
ing  by  turns  through  a  hole  in  the  screen  at  the  throng 
in  the  audience-chamber. 

They  could  see  a  confusion  of  fans,  jewels,  and  faces, 
and  now  and  again  could  hear  a  burst  of  subdued  laughter 
over  the  steadily  increasing  buzz  of  voices.  Then  from 
the  gallery  above,  all  at  once  there  came  a  murmur  of 
instruments  tuning  together  j  a  voice  in  the  corridor  was 
heard  calling,  "  Way  here,  way  here !  "  in  masterful  tones ; 
the  tall  folding-doors  at  the  side  of  the  hall  swung  wide, 
and  eight  dapper  pages  in  white  and  gold  came  in  with 
the  Master  of  Revels.  After  them  came  fifty  ladies  and 
noblemen  clad  in  white  and  gold,  and  a  guard  of  gentle- 
men pensioners  with  glittering  halberds. 

There  was  a  sharp  rustle.  Every  head  in  the  audience- 
chamber  louted  low.  Nick's  heart  gave  a  jump— for  the 
Queen  was  there ! 

She  came  with  an  air  that  was  at  once  serious  and  royal, 
bearing  herself  haughtily,  yet  with  a  certain  grace  and 
sprightliness  that  became  her  very  well.  She  was  quite 
tall  and  well  made,  and  her  quickly  changing  face  was 
long  and  fair,  though  wrinkled  and  no  longer  young. 
Her  complexion  was  clear  and  of  an  olive  hue ;  her  nose 
was  a  little  hooked ;  her  firm  lips  were  thin ;  and  her  small 
black  eyes,  though  keen  and  bright,  were  pleasant  and 
merry  withal.  Her  hair  was  a  coppery,  tawny  red,  and 
false,  moreover.  In  her  ears  hung  two  great  pearls ;  and 
there  was  a  fine  small  crown  studded  with  diamonds  upon 
her  head,  beside  a  necklace  of  exceeding  fine  gold  and 


198  MASTER  SKYLARK 

jewels  about  her  neck.  She  was  attired  in  a  white  silk 
gown  bordered  with  pearls  the  size  of  beans,  and  over  it 
wore  a  mantle  of  black  silk,  cunningly  shot  with  silver 
threads.  Her  ruff  was  vast,  her  farthingale  vaster ;  and 
her  train,  which  was  very  long,  was  borne  by  a  marchioness 
who  made  more  ado  about  it  than  Elizabeth  did  of  ruling 
her  realm. 

"  The  Queen !  "  gasped  Colley. 

"Dost  think  I  did  na  know  it?"  answered  Nick,  his 
heart  beginning  to  beat  tattoo  as  he  stared  through  the 
peep-hole  in  the  screen. 

He  saw  the  great  folk  bowing  like  a  gardenf ul  of  flowers 
in  a  storm,  and  in  its  midst  Elizabeth  erect,  speaking  to 
those  about  her  in  a  lively  and  good-humored  way,  and 
addressing  all  the  foreigners  according  to  their  tongue— 
in  French,  Italian,  Spanish,  Dutch ;  but  hers  was  funny 
Dutch,  and  while  she  spoke  she  smiled  and  made  a  joke 
upon  it  in  Latin,  at  which  they  all  laughed  heartily, 
whether  they  understood  what  it  meant  or  not.  Then, 
with  her  ladies  in  waiting,  she  passed  to  a  dais  near  the 
stage,  and  stood  a  moment,  stately,  fair,  and  proud,  while 
all  her  nobles  made  obeisance,  then  sat  and  gave  a  signal 
for  the  players  to  begin. 

"  Raf  e  Fullerton !  "  the  prompter  whispered  shrilly ;  and 
out  from  behind  the  screen  slipped  Rafe,  the  smallest  of 
them  all,  and  down  the  stage  to  speak  the  foreword  of  the 
piece.  He  was  frightened,  and  his  voice  shook  as  he 
spoke,  but  every  one  was  smiling,  so  he  took  new  heart. 

"  It  is  a  masque  of  Summer-time  and  Spring,"  said  he, 


CHRISTMAS  WITH  QUEEN  BESS  199 

"  wherein  both  claim  to  be  best-loved,  and  have  their  say 
of  wit  and  humor,  and  each  her  part  of  songs  and  dances 
suited  to  her  time,  the  sprightly  galliard  and  the  nimble 
jig  for  Spring,  the  slow  pavone,  the  stately  peacock  dance, 
for  Summer-time.  And  win  who  may,  fair  Summer-time 
or  merry  Spring,  the  winner  is  but  that  beside  our  Queen !  " 
—with  which  he  snapped  his  fingers  in  the  faces  of  them 
all—" God  save  Queen  Bess ! " 

At  that  the  Queen's  eyes  twinkled,  and  she  nodded, 
highly  pleased,  so  that  every  one  clapped  mightily. 

The  play  soon  ran  its  course  amid  great  laughter  and 
applause.  Spring  won.  The  English  ever  loved  her  best, 
and  the  quick-paced  galliard  took  their  fancy,  too.  "  Up 
and  be  doing !  "  was  its  tune,  and  it  gave  one  a  chance  to 
cut  fine  capers  with  his  heels. 

Then  the  stage  stood  empty  and  the  music  stopped. 

At  this  strange  end  a  whisper  of  surprise  ran  through 
the  hall.  The  Queen  tapped  with  the  inner  side  of  her 
rings  upon  the  broad  arm  of  her  chair.  From  the  look  on 
her  face  she  was  whetting  her  tongue.  But  before  she 
could  speak,  Nick  and  Colley,  dressed  as  a  farmer  boy 
and  girl,  with  a  garland  of  house-grown  flowers  about 
them,  came  down  the  stage  from  the  arras,  hand  in  hand, 
bowing. 

The  audience-chamber  grew  very  still—  this  was  some- 
thing new.  Nick  felt  a  swallowing  in  his  throat,  and 
Coney's  hand  winced  in  his  grip.  There  was  no  sound 
but  a  silky  rustling  in  the  room. 

Then  suddenly  the  boys  behind  the  players'  curtain 


200  MASTER  SKYLARK 

laughed  together,  not  loud,  but  such  a  jolly  little  laugh 
that  all  the  people  smiled  to  hear  it.  After  the  laughter 
came  a  hush. 

Then  the  pipes  overhead  made  a  merry  sound  as  of 
shepherds  piping  on  oaten  straws  in  new  grass  where 
there  are  daisies ;  and  there  was  a  little  elfish  laughter  of 
clarionets,  and  a  fluttering  among  the  cool  flutes  like  spring 
wind  blowing  through  crisp  young  leaves  in  April.  The 
harps  began  to  pulse  and  throb  with  a  soft  cadence  like 
raindrops  falling  into  a  clear  pool  where  brown  leaves  lie 
upon  the  bottom  and  bubbles  float  above  green  stones  and 
smooth  white  pebbles.  Nick  lifted  up  his  head  and  sang. 

It  was  a  happy  little  song  of  the  coming  and  the  triumph 
of  the  spring.  The  words  were  all  forgotten  long  ago. 
They  were  not  much :  enough  to  serve  the  turn,  no  more ; 
but  the  notes  to  which  they  went  were  like  barn  swallows 
twittering  under  the  eaves,  goldfinches  clinking  in  purple 
weeds  beside  old  roads,  and  robins  singing  in  common 
gardens  at  dawn.  And  wherever  Nick's  voice  ran  Colley's 
followed,  the  pipes  laughing  after  them  a  note  or  two 
below ;  while  the  flutes  kept  gurgling  softly  to  themselves 
as  a  hill  brook  gurgles  through  the  woods,  and  the  harps 
ran  gently  up  and  down  like  rain  among  the  daffodils. 
One  voice  called,  the  other  answered ;  there  were  echo-like 
refrains;  and  as  they  sang  Nick's  heart  grew  full.  He 
cared  not  a  stiver  for  the  crowd,  the  golden  palace,  or  the 
great  folk  there — the  Queen  no  more — he  only  listened 
for  Colley's  voice  coming  up  lovingly  after  his  own  and 
running  away  when  he  followed  it  down,  like  a  lad  and  a 


CHEISTMAS  WITH  QUEEN  BESS  201 

lass  through  the  bloom  of  the  May.  And  Colley  was  sing- 
ing as  if  his  heart  would  leap  out  of  his  round  mouth  for 
joy  to  follow  after  the  song  they  sung,  till  they  came  to 
the  end  and  the  skylark's  song. 

There  Colley  ceased,  and  Nick  went  singing  on  alone, 
forgetting,  caring  for,  heeding  nought  but  the  song  that 
was  in  his  throat. 

The  Queen's  fan  dropped  from  her  hand  upon  the  floor. 
No  one  saw  it  or  picked  it  up.  The  Venetian  ambassador 
scarcely  breathed. 

Nick  came  down  the  stage,  his  hands  before  him,  lifted 
as  if  he  saw  the  very  lark  he  followed  with  his  song,  up, 
up,  up  into  the  sun.  His  cheeks  were  flushed  and  his  eyes 
were  wet,  though  his  voice  was  a  song  and  a  laugh  in  one. 

Then  they  were  gone  behind  the  curtain,  into  the  shadow 
and  the  twilight  there,  Colley  with  his  arms  about  Nick's 
neck,  not  quite  laughing,  not  quite  sobbing.  The  manu- 
script of  the  Revel  lay  torn  in  two  upon  the  floor,  and 
Master  Gyles  had  a  foot  upon  each  piece. 

In  the  hall  beyond  the  curtain  was  a  silence  that  was 
deeper  than  a  hush,  a  stillness  rising  from  the  hearts  of 
men. 

Then  Elizabeth  turned  in  the  chair  where  she  sat.  Her 
eyes  were  as  bright  as  a  blaze.  And  out  of  the  sides  of 
her  eyes  she  looked  at  the  Venetian  ambassador.  He  was 
sitting  far  out  on  the  edge  of  his  chair,  and  his  lips  had 
fallen  apart.  She  laughed  to  herself.  "  It  is  a  good  song, 
signor,"  said  she,  and  those  about  her  started  at  the  sound 
of  her  voice.  "  Chi  face  confessa—it  is  so !  There  are 


202  MASTEE  SKYLAEK 

no  songs  like  English  songs— there  is  no  spring  like  an 
English  spring— there  is  no  land  like  England,  my  Eng- 
land ! "  She  clapped  her  hands.  "  I  will  speak  with  those 
lads,"  said  she. 

Straightway  certain  pages  ran  through  the  press  and 
came  behind  the  curtain  where  Nick  and  Colley  stood  to- 
gether, still  trembling  with  the  music  not  yet  gone  out  of 
them,  and  brought  them  through  the  hall  to  where  the 
Queen  sat,  every  one  whispering,  "  Look ! "  as  they  passed. 

On  the  dais  they  knelt  together,  bowing,  side  by  side. 
Elizabeth,  with  a  kindly  smile,  leaning  a  little  forward, 
raised  them  with  her  slender  hand.  "  Stand,  dear  lads," 
said  she,  heartily.  "  Be  lifted  up  by  thine  own  singing, 
as  our  hearts  have  been  uplifted  by  thy  song.  And  name 
me  the  price  of  that  same  song— 't  was  sweeter  than  the 
sweetest  song  we  ever  heard  before." 

"Or  ever  shall  hear  again,"  said  the  Venetian  ambas- 
sador, under  his  breath,  rubbing  his  forehead  as  if  just 
wakening  out  of  a  dream. 

"  Come,"  said  Elizabeth,  tapping  Colley's  cheek  with  her 
fan,  "  what  wilt  thou  have  of  me,  fair  maid?" 

Colley  turned  red,  then  very  pale.  "  That  I  may  stay  in 
the  palace  forever  and  sing  for  your  Majesty,"  said  he. 
His  fingers  shivered  in  Nick's. 

"  Now  that  is  right  prettily  asked,"  she  cried,  and  was 
well  pleased.  "  Thou  shalt  indeed  stay  for  a  singing  page 
in  our  household— a  voice  and  a  face  like  thine  are  merry 
things  upon  a  rainy  Monday.  And  thou,  Master  Lark," 
said  she,  fanning  the  hair  back  from  Nick's  forehead  with 


CHRISTMAS  WITH  QUEEN  BESS  203 

her  perfumed  fan—  "thou  that  comest  up  out  of  the  field 
with  a  song  like  the  angels  sing— what  wilt  thou  have : 
that  thou  mayst  sing  in  our  choir  and  play  on  the  lute 
for  us  ? " 

Nick  looked  up  at  the  torches  on  the  wall,  drawing  a 
deep,  long  breath.  When  he  looked  down  again  his  eyes 
were  dazzled  and  he  could  not  see  the  Queen. 

"  What  wilt  thou  have  ?  *  he  heard  her  ask. 

"  Let  me  go  home,"  said  he. 

There  were  red  and  green  spots  in  the  air.  He  tried  to 
count  them,  since  he  could  see  nothing  else,  and  every- 
thing was  very  still ;  but  they  all  ran  into  one  purple  spot 
which  came  and  went  like  a  firefly's  glow,  and  in  the  middle 
of  the  purple  spot  he  saw  the  Queen's  face  coming  and 
going. 

"  Surely,  boy,  that  is  an  ill-considered  speech,"  said  she, 
"or  thou  dost  deem  us  very  poor,  or  most  exceeding 
stingy !  "  Nick  hung  his  head,  for  the  walls  seemed  tap- 
estried with  staring  eyes.  "Or  else  this  home  of  thine 
must  be  a  very  famous  place." 

The  maids  of  honour  tittered.  Further  off  somebody 
laughed.  Nick  looked  up,  and  squared  his  shoulders. 

They  had  rubbed  the  cat  the  wrong  way. 

It  is  hard  to  be  a  stranger  in  a  palace,  young,  country- 
bred,  and  laughed  at  all  at  once ;  but  down  in  Nick  Att- 
wood's  heart  was  a  stubborn  streak  that  all  the  flattery 
on  earth  could  not  cajole  nor  ridicule  efface.  He  might 
be  simple,  shy,  and  slow,  but  what  he  loved  he  loved :  that 
much  he  knew ;  and  when  they  laughed  at  him  for  loving 


204  MASTER  SKYLARK 

home  they  seemed  to  mock  not  him,  but  home— and  thai 
touched  the  fighting-spot. 

"  I  would  rather  be  there  than  here,"  said  he. 

The  Queen's  face  flushed.  "  Thou  art  more  curt  than 
courteous,"  said  she.  "Is  it  not  good  enough  for  thee 
here?" 

"  I  could  na  live  in  such  a  place." 

The  Queen's  eyes  snapped.  "  In  such  a  place  ?  Marry, 
art  thou  so  choice  ?  These  others  find  no  fault  with  the 
life." 

"  Then  they  be  born  to  it,"  said  Nick,  "  or  they  could 
abide  no  more  than  I— they  would  na  fit." 

"  Haw,  haw ! "  said  the  Lord  High  Constable. 

The  Queen  shot  one  quick  glance  at  him.  "Old  pegs 
have  been  made  to  fit  new  holes  before  to-day,"  said  she ; 
"  and  the  trick  can  be  done  again."  The  Constable  smo- 
thered the  rest  of  that  laugh  in  his  hand.  "  But  come,  boy, 
speak  up ;  what  hath  put  thee  so  out  of  conceit  with  our 
best-beloved  palace  ? " 

"  There  is  na  one  thing  likes  me  here.  I  can  na  bide  in 
a  place  so  fine,  for  there  's  not  so  much  as  a  corner  in  it 
feels  like  home.  I  could  na  sleep  in  the  bed  last  night." 

"  What,  how  ?  We  commanded  good  beds !  "  exclaimed 
Elizabeth,  angrily,  for  the  Venetian  ambassador  was  smil- 
ing in  his  beard.  "  This  shall  be  seen  to." 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  good  bed — a  very  good  bed  indeed,  your 
Majesty !  "  cried  Nick.  "  But  the  mattress  puffed  up  like 
a  cloud  in  a  bag,  and  almost  smothered  me ;  and  it  was  so 
soft  and  so  hot  that  it  gave  me  a  fever." 


CHEISTMAS  WITH  QUEEN  BESS  205 

Elizabeth  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  laughed.  The 
Lord  High  Constable  hastily  finished  the  laugh  that  he 
had  hidden  in  his  hand.  Everybody  laughed.  "Upon 
my  word,"  said  the  Queen,  "it  is  an  odd  skylark  cannot 
sleep  in  feathers !  What  didst  thou  do,  forsooth  ? " 

"  I  slept  in  the  coverlid  on  the  floor,"  said  Nick.  "  It 
was  na  hurt,— I  dusted  the  place  well,— and  I  slept  like  a 
top." 

"  Now  verily,"  laughed  Elizabeth,  "  if  it  be  floors  that 
thou  dost  desire,  we  have  acres  to  spare— thou  shalt  have 
thy  pick  of  the  lot.  Come,  we  are  ill  used  to  begging 
people  to  be  favored— thou  'It  stay  ? " 

Nick  shook  his  head. 

"  Ma  foi  !  "  exclaimed  the  Queen,  "  it  is  a  queer  fancy 
makes  a  face  at  such  a  pleasant  dwelling !  What  is  it 
sticks  in  thy  throat  ? " 

Nick  stood  silent.  What  was  there  to  say  ?  If  he  came 
here  he  never  would  see  Stratford  town  again ;  and  this 
was  no  abiding-place  for  him.  They  would  not  even  let 
him  go  to  the  fountain  himself  to  draw  water  with  which 
to  wash,  but  fetched  it,  three  at  a  time,  in  a  silver  ewer 
and  a  copper  basin  with  towels  and  a  flask  of  perfume. 

Elizabeth  was  tapping  with  her  fan.  "Thou  art  be- 
dazzled like,"  she  said.  "Think  twice— preferment  does 
not  gooseberry  on  the  hedge-row  every  day ;  and  this  is  a 
rare  chance  which  hangs  ripening  on  thy  tongue.  Con- 
sider  well.  Come,  thou  wilt  accept  ? " 

Nick  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"  Go  then,  if  thou  wilt  go ! "  said  she ;  and  as  she  spoke 


206  MASTEK  SKYLAEK 

she  shrugged  her  shoulders,  illy  pleased,  and  turning  to- 
ward  Colley,  took  him  by  the  hand  and  drew  him  closer 
to  her,  smiling  at  his  guise.  "Thy  comrade  hath  more 
wit." 

"  He  hath  no  mother,"  Nick  said  quietly,  loosing  his  hold 
at  last  on  Colley's  hand.  "  I  would  rather  have  my  mother 
than  his  wit." 

Elizabeth  turned  sharply  back.  Her  keen  eyes  were 
sparkling,  yet  soft. 

"  Thou  art  no  fool,"  said  she. 

A  little  murmur  ran  through  the  room. 

She  sat  a  moment,  silent,  studying  his  face.  "Or  if 
thou  art,  upon  my  word  I  like  the  breed.  It  is  a  stub- 
born, froward  dog ;  but  Hold-fast  is  his  name.  Ay,  sirs," 
she  said,  and  sat  up  very  straight,  looking  into  the  faces 
of  her  court,  "  Brag  is  a  good  dog,  but  Hold-fast  is  better 
A  lad  who  loves  his  mother  thus  makes  a  man  who  loveth 
his  native  land— and  it  's  no  bad  streak  in  the  blood. 
Master  Skylark,  thou  shalt  have  thy  wish ;  to  London  thou 
shalt  go  this  very  night." 

"  I  do  na  live  in  London,"  Nick  began. 

"What  matters  the  place?"  said  she.  "Live  whereso- 
ever thine  heart  doth  please.  It  is  enough— so.  Thou 
mayst  kiss  our  hand."  She  held  her  hand  out,  bright 
with  jewels.  He  knelt  and  kissed  it  as  if  it  were  all  a 
doing  in  a  dream,  or  in  some  unlikely  story  he  had  read. 
But  a  long  while  after  he  could  smell  the  perfume  from 
her  slender  fingers  on  his  lips. 

Then  a  page  standing  by  him  touched  his  arm  as  he 


CHRISTMAS  WITH  QUEEN  BESS  207 

arose,  and  bowing  backward  from  the  throne,  came  with 
him  to  the  curtain  and  the  rest.  Old  Master  Gyles  was 
standing  there  apart.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  his  face,  but 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  Nick's  head. 

"  Thy  cake  is  burned  to  a  coal,"  said  he. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

BACK  TO   GASTON   CAREW 

SO  they  marched  back  out  of  the  palace  gates,  down  to 
the  landing-place,  the  last  red  sunlight  gleaming  on 
the  basinets  of  the  tall  halberdiers  who  marched  on  either 
side. 

Nick  looked  out  toward  London,  where  the  river  lay 
like  a  serpent,  bristling  with  masts ;  and  beyond  the  river 
and  the  town  to  the  forests  of  Epping  and  Hainault ;  and 
beyond  the  forests  to  the  hills,  where  the  waning  day  still 
lingered  in  a  mist  of  frosty  blue.  At  their  back,  midway 
of  the  Queen's  park,  stood  up  the  old  square  tower  Mire- 
fleur,  and  on  its  top  one  yellow  light  like  the  flame  of  a 
gigantic  candle.  The  day  seemed  builded  of  memories 
strange  and  untrue. 

A  belated  gull  flapped  by  them  heavily,  and  the  red  sun 
went  down.  England  was  growing  lonely.  A  great  barge 
laden  with  straw  came  out  of  the  dusk,  and  was  gone 
without  a  sound,  its  ghostly  sail  drawing  in  a  wind  that 
the  wherry  sat  too  low  to  feel.  Nick  held  his  breath  as 
the  barge  went  by :  it  was  unreal,  fantastical 

208 


BACK  TO  GASTON  CAEEW 


209 


Then  the  river  dropped  between  its  banks,  and  the  woods 
and  the  hills  were  gone.  The  tide  ran  heavily  against  the 
shore,  and  the  wake  of  the  wherry  broke  the  floating  stars 
into  cold  white  streaks  and  zigzag  ripplings  of  raveled 
light  that  ran  unsteadily  after  them.  The  craft  at  anchor 
in  the  Pool  had  swung  about  upon  the  flow,  and  pointed 
down  to  Greenwich.  A  hush  had  fallen  upon  the  never- 
ending  bustle  of  the  town ;  and  the  air  was  full  of  a  gray, 
uncanny  afterglow  which  seemed  to  come  up  out  of  the 
water,  for  the  sky  was  grown  quite  dark. 

They  were  all  wrapped  in  their  boat-cloaks,  tired  and 
silent.  Now  and  then  Nick  dipped  his  fingers  into  the 
cold  water  over  the  gunwale. 

This  was  the  end  of  the  glory. 

He  wished  the  boat  would  go  a  little  faster.  Yet  when 
they  came  to  the  landing  he  was  sorry. 

The  man-at-arms  who  went  with  him  to  Master  Carew's 
house  was  one  of  the  Earl  of  ArundePs  men,  in  a  stiff- 
wadded  jacket  of  heron-blue,  with  the  earl's  colors  richly 
worked  upon  its  back  and  his  badge  upon  the  sleeves. 
Prowlers  gave  way  before  him  in  the  streets,  for  he  was 
broad  and  tall  and  mighty,  and  the  fear  of  any  man  was 
not  in  the  look  of  his  eye. 

As  they  came  up  the  slow  hill,  Nick  sighed,  for  the 
long-legged  man-at-arms  walked  fast.  "  What,  there !  " 
said  he,  and  clapped  Nick  on  the  shoulder  with  his  bony 
hand ;  "  art  far  spent,  lad  ?  Why,  marry,  get  thee  upon 
my  back.  I  '11  jog  thee  home  in  the  shake  of  a  black 
sheep's  taiL" 


u 


210  MASTEE  SKYLAEK 

So  Nick  rode  home  upon  the  back  of  the  Earl  of  Arun- 
del's  man-at-arms ;  and  that,  too,  seemed  a  dream  like  all 
the  rest. 

When  they  came  to  Master  Carew's  house  the  street 
was  dark,  and  Nick's  foot  was  asleep.  He  stamped  it, 
tingling,  upon  the  step,  and  the  empty  passage  echoed 
with  the  sound.  Then  the  earl's  man  beat  the  door 
with  the  pommel  of  his  dagger-hilt,  and  stood  with 
his  hands  upon  his  hips,  carelessly  whistling  a  little 
tune. 

Nick  heard  a  sound  of  some  one  coming  through  the 
hall,  and  felt  that  at  last  the  day  was  done.  A  tired 
wonder  wakened  in  his  heart  at  how  so  much  had  come 
to  pass  in  such  a  little  while ;  yet  more  he  wondered  why 
it  had  ever  come  to  pass  at  all.  And  what  was  the  worth 
of  it,  anyway,  now  it  was  over  and  gone  ? 

Then  the  door  opened,  and  he  went  in. 

Master  Gaston  Carew  himself  had  come  to  the  door, 
walking  quickly  through  the  hallway,  with  a  queer,  nervous 
twitching  in  his  face.  But  when  he  made  out  through  the 
dusk  that  it  was  Nick,  he  seemed  in  no  wise  moved,  and 
said  quite  simply,  as  he  gave  the  man-at-arms  a  penny : 
"  Oh,  is  it  thou  ?  Why,  we  have  heard  somewhat  of  thee ; 
and  upon  my  word  I  thought,  since  thou  wert  grown  so 
great,  thou  wouldst  come  home  in  a  coach-and-four,  all 
blowing  horns ! " 

Nevertheless  he  drew  Nick  quickly  in,  and  kissed  him 
thrice ;  and  after  he  had  kissed  him  kept  fast  hold  of  his 
hand  until  they  came  together  through  the  hall  into  the 


"BO  NICK  BODE  HOME  UPON  THE  BACK  OF  THE  EASL  OF  ABUNDKL* 
MAK-AT-ABMa" 


BACK  TO  GASTON  CAREW  211 

great  room  where  Cicely  was  sitting  quite  dismally  in  the 
chimney-seat  alone. 

"  There,  Nick,"  said  he ;  "  tell  her  thyself  that  thou  hast 
eome  back.  She  thought  she  had  lost  thee  for  good  and 
all,  and  hath  sung, '  Hey  ho,  my  heart  is  full  of  woe ! '  the 
whole  twilight,  and  would  not  be  comforted.  Come,  Cicely, 
loff  thy  doleful  willow— the  proverb  lies.  '  Out  of  sight, 
3ut  of  mind  '—fudge !  the  boy  's  come  back  again !  A 
plague  take  proverbs,  anyway !  " 

But  when  the  children  were  both  long  since  abed,  and 
ill  the  house  was  still  save  for  the  scamper  of  rats  in  the 
seall,  the  heavy  door  of  Nick's  room  opened  stealthily,  with 
i  little  grating  upon  the  uneven  sill,  and  Master  Carew 
stood  there,  peeping  in,  his  hand  upon  the  bolt  outside. 

He  held  a  rush-light  in  the  other.  Its  glimmer  fell 
icross  the  bed  upon  Nick's  tousled  hair;  and  when  the 
master-player  saw  the  boy's  head  upon  the  pillow  he 
started  eagerly,  with  brightening  eyes.  "  My  soul ! "  he 
whispered  to  himself,  a  little  quaver  in  his  tone,  "  I  would 
tiave  sworn  my  own  desire  lied  to  me,  and  that  he  had 
aot  come  at  all !  It  cannot  be— yet,  verily,  I  am  not  blind, 
Ma  foi  !  it  passe th  understanding— a  freed  skylark  come 
back  to  its  cage  !  I  thought  we  had  lost  him  forever." 

Nick  stirred  in  his  sleep.  Carew  set  the  light  on  the 
floor.  "  Thou  fool !  "  said  he,  and  he  fumbled  at  his  pouch ; 
"thou  dear-beloved  little  fool!  To  catch  the  skirts  of 
aflory  in  thine  hand,  and  tread  the  heels  of  happy  chance, 
md  yet  come  back  again  to  ill-starred  twilight— and  to 
me !  Ai,  lad,  I  would  thou  wert  my  son— mine  own, 


212  MASTER  SKYLARK 

son ;  yet  Heaven  spare  thee  father  such  as  I !  For,  Nick, 
I  love  thee.  Yet  thou  dost  hate  me  like  a  poison  thing. 
And  still  I  love  thee,  on  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of 
mine  honour !  "  His  voice  was  husky.  "  Let  thee  go  ?— 
send  thee  back?— eat  my  sweet  and  have  it  too?— how? 
Nay,  nay;  thy  happy  cake  would  be  my  dough— it  will 
not  serve."  He  shook  his  head,  and  looked  about  to  see 
that  all  was  fast.  "  Yet,  Nick,  I  say  I  love  thee,  on  my 
soul ! " 

Slipping  to  the  bedside  with  stealthy  step,  he  laid  a  fat 
little  Banbury  cheese  and  some  brown  sweet  cakes  beside 
Nick's  pillow;  then  came  out  hurriedly  and  barred  the 
door. 

The  fire  in  the  great  hall  had  gone  out,  and  the  room 
was  growing  cold.  The  table  stood  by  the  chimney-side, 
where  supper  had  been  laid.  Carew  brought  a  napkin 
from  the  linen-chest,  and  spread  it  upon  the  board.  Then 
he  went  to  the  server's  screen  and  looked  behind  it,  and 
tried  the  latches  of  the  doors ;  and  having  thus  made  sure 
that  all  was  safe,  came  back  to  the  table  again,  and  set- 
ting the  rush-light  there,  turned  the  contents  of  his  purse 
into  the  napkin. 

There  were  both  gold  and  silver.  The  silver  he  put  back 
into  the  purse  again ;  the  gold  he  counted  carefully ;  and 
as  he  counted,  laying  the  pieces  one  by  one  in  little  heaps 
upon  the  cloth,  he  muttered  under  his  breath,  like  a  small 
boy  adding  up  his  sums  in  school,  saying  over  and  over 
again,  "  One  for  me,  and  one  for  thee,  and  two  for  Cicely 
Carew.  One  for  me,  and  one  for  thee,  and  two  for  Cicely 


BACK  TO  GASTON  CAREW  213 

Carew  n  ;  and  told  the  coins  off  in  keeping  with  the  count, 
so  that  the  last  pile  was  as  large  as  both  the  others  put 
together.  Then  slowly  ending,  "None  for  me,  and  one 
for  thee,  and  two  for  Cicely  Carew,"  he  laid  the  last  three 
nobles  with  the  rest. 

Then  he  arose  and  stood  a  moment  listening  to  the  si- 
lence in  the  house.  An  old  he  rat  that  was  gnawing  a  rind 
on  the  hearth  looked  up,  and  ran  a  little  nearer  to  his  hole. 
"  Tsst !  come  back,"  said  Carew,  "  I  'm  no  cat ! "  and  from 
the  sliding  panel  in  the  wall  took  out  a  buckskin  bag  tied 
like  a  meal-sack  with  a  string. 

As  he  slipped  the  knot  the  throat  of  the  bag  sagged 
down,  and  a  gold  piece  jangled  on  the  floor.  Carew  started 
as  if  all  his  nerves  had  leaped  within  him  at  the  unex- 
pected sound,  and  closed  the  panel  like  a  flash.  Then,  set- 
ting his  foot  upon  the  fallen  coin,  he  stopped  its  spinning, 
and  with  one  hand  on  his  poniard,  peering  right  and  left, 
blew  the  candle  out. 

A  little  while  he  stood  and  listened  in  the  dark ;  a  little 
while  his  feet  went  to  and  fro  in  the  darkness.  The  wind 
cried  in  the  chimney.  Now  and  then  the  casements 
shivered.  The  timbers  in  the  wall  creaked  with  the  cold, 
and  the  boards  in  the  stairway  cracked.  Then  the  old  he 
rat  came  back  to  his  rind,  and  his  mate  came  out  of  the 
crack  in  the  wall,  working  her  whiskers  hungrily  and 
snuffing  the  smell  of  the  candle-drip  -f  for  there  was  no 
sound,  and  the  coast  of  rat-land  was  clear. 


CHAPTER 

AT    THE   FALCON  ESTN 

And  then  there  came  both  mist  and  sno\t, 

And  it  grew  wondrous  cold ; 
And  ice  mast-high  came  floating  by, 

As  green  as  emerald. 

SO  says  that  wonder-ballad  of  the  sea. 
But  over  London  came  a  gale  that  made  the  chim« 
neys  rock ;  and  after  it  came  ice  and  snow,  sharp,  stinging 
sleet,  and  thumping  hail,  with  sickening  winds  from  the 
gray  west,  sour  yellow  fogs,  and  plunging  rain,  till  all  the 
world  was  weary  of  the  winter  and  the  cold. 

But  winter  could  not  last  forever.  March  crept  onward, 
and  the  streets  of  London  came  up  out  of  the  slush  again 
with  a  glad  surprise  of  cobblestones.  The  sickly  mist  no 
longer  hung  along  the  river ;  and  sometimes  upon  a  breezy 
afternoon  it  was  pleasant  and  fair,  the  sun  shone  warmly 
on  one's  back,  and  the  rusty  sky  grew  bluer  overhead. 
The  trees  in  Paris  Garden  put  out  buds;  the  lilac-tips 
began  to  swell ;  there  was  a  stirring  in  the  roadside  grass, 
and  now  and  then  a  questing  bird  went  by  upon  the  wind, 

214 


AT  THE  FALCON  INN  215 

piping  a  little  silver  thread  of  song.  Nick's  heart  grew 
hungry  for  the  woods  of  Arden  and  the  gathering  rush 
of  the  waking  water-brooks  among  the  old  dead  leaves. 
The  rain  beat  in  at  his  window,  but  he  did  not  care  for 
that,  and  kept  it  open  day  and  night ;  for  when  he  wak- 
ened in  the  dark  he  loved  to  feel  the  fingers  of  the  wind 
across  his  face. 

Sometimes  the  moonlight  through  the  ragged  clouds 
came  in  upon  the  floor,  and  in  the  hurry  of  the  wind  he 
almost  fancied  he  could  hear  the  Avon,  bank-full,  rushing 
under  the  old  mill-bridge. 

Then  one  day  there  came  a  shower  with  a  warm  south 
wind,  sweet  and  healthful  and  serene;  and  through  the 
shower,  out  of  the  breaking  clouds,  a  sun-gleam  like  a  path 
of  gold  straight  down  to  the  heart  of  London  town; 
and  on  the  south  wind,  down  that  path  of  gold,  came 
April. 

That  night  the  wind  in  the  chimney  fluted  a  glad,  new 
tune ;  and  when  Nick  looked  out  at  his  casement  the  free 
stars  danced  before  him  in  the  sky.  And  when  he  felt  that 
fluting  wind  blow  warm  and  cool  together  on  his  cheek, 
the  chimneys  mocked  him,  and  the  town  was  hideous. 

IT  fell  upon  an  April  night,  when  the  moon  was  at  its 
full,  that  Master  Carew  had  come  to  the  Falcon  Inn,  on 
the  Southwark  side  of  the  river,  and  had  brought  Nick 
with  him  for  the  air.  Master  Heywood  was  along,  and  it 
was  very  pleasant  there. 

The  night  breeze  smelled  of  green  fields,  and  the  inn 


216  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

was  thronged  with  company.  The  windows  were  bright, 
and  the  air  was  full  of  voices.  Tables  had  been  brought 
out  into  the  garden  and  set  beneath  the  arbor  toward  the 
riverside.  The  vines  of  the  arbor  were  shooting  forth 
their  first  pink-velvet  leaves,  and  in  the  moonlight  their 
shadows  fell  like  lacework  across  the  linen  cloths,  blurred 
by  the  glow  of  the  lanterns  hung  upon  the  posts. 

The  folds  in  the  linen  marked  the  table-tops  with 
squares  like  a  checker-board,  and  Nick  stood  watching  from 
the  tap-room  door,  as  if  it  were  a  game.  Not  that  he  cared 
for  any  game ;  but  that  watching  dulled  the  teeth  of  the 
hunger  in  his  heart  to  be  out  of  the  town  and  back  among 
the  hills  of  Warwickshire,  now  that  the  spring  was  there. 

"What,  there !— a  pot  of  sack!  "  cried  one  gay  fellow 
with  a  silver-bordered  cloak.  "  A  pot  of  sack  ? "  cried  out 
another  with  a  feather  like  a  rose-bush  in  his  cap ;  "  two 
pots  ye  mean,  my  buck !  "  "  Ods-fish  my  skin !  "  bawled 
out  a  third— " ods-fish  my  skin!  Two  pots  of  beggarly 
sack  on  a  Saturday  night  and  a  moon  like  this  ?  Three 
pots,  say  I— and  make  it  malmsey,  at  my  cost !  What, 
there,  knave !  the  table  full  of  pots— I  '11  pay  the  score." 

At  that  they  all  began  to  laugh  and  to  slap  one  another 
on  the  back,  and  to  pound  with  their  fists  upon  the  board 
until  the  pewter  tankards  hopped ;  and  when  the  tapster's 
knave  came  back  they  were  singing  at  the  top  of  their 
lungs,  for  the  spring  had  gotten  into  their  wits,  and  they 
were  beside  themselves  with  merriment. 

Master  Tom  Heywood  had  a  little  table  to  himself  off  in 
a  corner,  and  was  writing  busily  upon  a  new  play.  "A 


AT  THE  FALCON  INN  217 

sheet  a  day,"  said  he,  "doth  do  a  wonder  in  a  year";  so 
he  was  always  at  it. 

Gaston  Carew  sat  beyond,  dicing  with  a  silky  rogue  who 
had  the  coldest,  hardest  face  that  Nick  had  ever  seen.  His 
eyes  were  black  and  beady  as  a  rat's,  and  were  circled 
about  by  a  myriad  of  little  crowfoot  lines ;  and  his  hooked 
nose  lay  across  his  thin  blue  lips  like  a  finger  across  a  slit 
in  a  dried  pie.  His  long,  slim  hands  were  white  as  any 
woman's ;  and  his  fingers  slipped  among  the  laces  at  his 
cuffs  like  a  weasel  in  a  tangle-patch. 

They  had  been  playing  for  an  hour,  and  the  game  had 
gone  beyond  all  reason.  The  other  players  had  put  aside 
the  dice  to  watch  the  two,  and  the  nook  in  which  their 
table  stood  was  ringed  with  curious  faces.  A  lantern  had 
been  hung  above,  but  Carew  had  had  it  taken  down,  as  its 
bottom  made  a  shadow  on  the  board.  Carew's  face  was 
red  and  white  by  turns ;  but  the  face  of  the  other  had  no 
more  color  than  candle-wax. 

At  the  end  of  the  arbor  some  one  was  strumming  upon 
a  gittern.  It  was  strung  in  a  different  key  from  that  in 
which  the  men  were  singing,  and  the  jangle  made  Nick 
feel  all  puckered  up  inside.  By  and  by  the  playing  ceased, 
and  the  singers  came  to  the  end  of  their  song.  In  the 
brief  hush  the  sharp  rattle  of  the  dice  sounded  like  the 
patter  of  cold  hail  against  the  shutter  in  the  lull  of  a 
winter  storm. 

Then  there  came  a  great  shouting  outsiae,  and,  looking 
through  the  arbor,  Nick  saw  two  couriers  on  gallowav 
nags  come  galloping  over  the  bowling-green  to  the  arbor- 


218  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

side,  calling  for  ale.  They  drank  it  in  their  saddles,  while 
their  panting  horses  sniffed  at  the  fresh  young  grass. 
Then  they  galloped  on.  Through  the  vines,  as  he  looked 
after  them,  Nick  could  see  the  towers  of  London  glitter- 
ing strangely  in  the  moonlight.  It  was  nearly  high  tide, 
and  up  from  the  river  came  the  sound  of  women's  voices 
and  laughter,  with  the  pulse-like  throb  of  oars  and  the 
hoarse  calling  of  the  watermen. 

In  the  great  room  of  the  inn  behind  him  the  gallants 
were  taking  their  snuff  in  little  silver  ladles,  and  talking 
of  princesses  they  had  met,  and  of  whose  coach  they  had 
ridden  home  in  last  from  tennis  at  my  lord's.  Some  were 
eating,  some  were  drinking,  and  some  were  puffing  at 
long  clay  pipes,  while  others,  by  twos,  locked  arm  in  ami, 
went  swaggering  up  and  down  the  room,  with  a  huge  talk- 
ing of  foreign  lands  which  they  had  never  so  much  as 
seen. 

"  A  murrain  on  the  luck ! "  cried  Carew,  suddenly. 
"  Can  I  throw  nothing  but  threes  and  fours  1 " 

A  muffled  stir  ran  round.  Nick  turned  from  the  glare 
of  the  open  door,  and  looked  out  into  the  moonlight.  It 
seemed  quite  dark  at  first.  The  master-player's  face  was 
bitter  white,  and  his  fingers  were  tapping  a  queer  staccato 
upon  the  table-top. 

"A  plague  on  the  bedlam  dice!"  said  he.  "I  think 
they  are  bewitched." 

"  Huff,  ruff,  and  snuff ! "  the  other  replied.  "  Don't  get 
the  mubble-fubbles,  Carew  j  there 's  nought  the  matter  with 
the  dice." 


AT  THE  FALCON  INN  219 

A  man  came  down  from  the  tap-room  door.  Nick  stepped 
aside  to  let  him  pass.  He  was  a  player,  by  his  air. 

He  wore  a  riding-cloak  of  Holland  cloth,  neither  so 
good  nor  so  bad  as  a  riding-cloak  might  be,  but  under  it 
a  handsome  jerkin  overlaid  with  lace,  and  belted  with  a 
buff  girdle  in  which  was  a  light  Spanish  rapier.  His 
boots  were  russet  cordovan,  mid-thigh  tall,  and  the  rowels 
of  his  clinking  spurs  were  silver  stars.  He  was  large  of 
frame,  and  his  curly  hair  was  short  and  brown ;  so  was 
his  pointed  beard.  His  eyes  were  singularly  bright  and 
fearless,  and  bluff  self-satisfaction  marked  his  stride ;  but 
his  under  lip  was  petulant,  and  he  flicked  his  boot  with 
his  riding- whip  as  he  shouldered  his  way  along. 

"  Ye  cannot  miss  the  place,  sir,"  called  the  tapster  after 
him.  "  'T  is  just  beyond  Ned  AUeyn's,  by  the  ditch.  Ye  '11 
never  mistake  the  ditch,  sir— Billingsgate  is  roses  to  it." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  find  it  fast  enough,"  the  stranger  answered ; 
"  but  he  should  have  sent  to  meet  me,  knowing  I  might 
come  at  any  hour.  'T  is  a  felon  place  for  thieves ;  and 
I  've  not  heart  to  skewer  even  a  goose  on  such  a  night  as 
this." 

At  the  sudden  breaking  of  voices  upon  the  silence, 
Carew  looked  up,  with  a  quarrel  ripe  for  picking  in  his 
eye.  But  seeing  who  spoke,  such  a  smile  came  rippling 
from  the  corners  of  his  mouth  across  his  dark,  unhappy 
face  that  it  was  as  if  a  lamp  of  welcome  had  been  lighted 
there.  "  What,  Ben  ! "  he  cried ;  "  thou  here  T  Why,  bless 
thine  heart,  old  gossip,  't  is  good  to  see  an  honest  face 
amid  this  pack  of  rogues." 


220  MASTER  SKYLAKK 

There  was  a  surly  muttering  in  the  crowd.  Carew 
threw  his  head  back  haughtily  and  set  his  knuckles  to  his 
hip.  "  A  pack  of  rogues,  I  say,"  he  repeated  sharply ; 
"  and  a  fig  for  the  whole  pack ! "  There  was  a  certain 
wildness  in  his  eyes.  No  one  stirred  or  made  reply. 

"  Good !  Gaston,"  laughed  the  stranger,  with  a  shrug ; 
"picking  thy  company  still,  I  see,  for  quantity,  and  not 
for  quality.  No,  thank  'e ;  none  of  the  tap  for  me.  My 
Lord  Hunsdon  was  made  chamberlain  in  his  father's  stead 
to-day,  and  I  'm  off  hot-foot  with  the  news  to  Will's." 

He  gathered  his  cloak  about  him,  and  was  gone. 

"  Ye  've  lost,"  said  the  man  who  was  dicing  with  Carew. 

Nick  stepped  down  from  the  tap-room  door.  His  ears 
were  tingling  with  the  sound :  "  I  'm  off  hot-foot  with  the 
news  to  Will's." 

"  Hot-foot  with  the  news  to  Will's  "  ? 

To  "  Will's  "  ?     "  Will "  who  ? 

The  man  was  a  player,  by  his  air. 

Nick  hurriedly  looked  around.  Carew's  wild  eyes  were 
frozen  upon  the  dice.  The  bandy-legged  man  was  drink- 
ing at  a  table  near  the  door.  The  crimson  ribbon  in  his 
ear  looked  like  a  patch  of  blood. 

He  saw  Nick  looking  at  him,  and  made  a  horrible  face. 
He  would  have  sworn  likewise,  but  there  was  half  a 
quart  of  ale  in  his  can ;  so  he  turned  it  up  and  drank  in- 
stead. It  was  a  long,  long  drink,  and  half  his  face  was 
buried  in  the  pot. 

When  he  put  it  down  the  boy  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

IN  THE  TWINKLING  OP  AN  EYE 

IN  a  garden  near  the  old  bear-yard,  among  tall  rose- 
trees  which  would  soon  be  in  bloom,  a  merry  com- 
pany of  men  were  sitting  around  a  table  which  stood  in 
the  angle  of  a  quick-set  hedge  beside  a  path  graveled 
with  white  stones  and  bordered  with  mussel-shells. 

There  was  a  house  hard  by  with  creamy-white  walls, 
green-shuttered  windows,  and  a  red-tiled  roof.  The  door 
of  the  house  was  open,  showing  a  little  ruddy  fire  upon  a 
great  hearth,  kindled  to  drive  away  the  damp ;  and  in  the 
windows  facing  the  garden  there  were  lights  shining 
warmly  out  among  the  rose-trees. 

The  table  was  spread  with  a  red  damask  cloth,  on  which 
were  a  tray  of  raisins  and  nuts  and  a  small  rally  of  silver 
cups.  Above  the  table  an  apple-tree  nodded  its  new 
leaves,  and  from  an  overhanging  bough  a  lantern  hung 
glowing  like  a  great  yellow  bee. 

There  was  a  young  fellow  with  a  white  apron  and  a 
jolly  little  whisper  of  a  whistle  on  his  puckered  lips  going 
around  with  a  plate  of  cakes  and  a  tray  of  honey-bowls  j 

221 


222  MASTER  SKYLARK 

and  the  men  were  eating  and  drinking  and  chatting  to- 
gether so  gaily,  and  seemed  to  be  all  such  good  friends, 
that  it  was  a  pleasant  thing  just  to  see  them  sitting  there 
in  their  comfortable  leather-bottomed  chairs,  taking  life 
easily  because  the  spring  had  come  again. 

One  tall  fellow  was  smoking  a  pipe.  He  held  the  bowl 
in  one  hand,  and  kept  tamping  down  the  loose  tobacco 
with  his  forefinger.  Now  and  again  he  would  be  so 
eagerly  talking  he  would  forget  that  his  finger  was  in  the 
bowl,  and  it  would  be  burned.  He  would  take  it  out  with 
a  look  of  quaint  surprise,  whereat  the  rest  all  roared. 
Another  was  a  fat,  round  man  who  chuckled  constantly 
to  himself,  as  if  this  life  were  all  a  joke ;  and  there  was  a 
quite  severe,  important-seeming,  oldish  man  who  said, 
"Hem— hem!"  from  time  to  time,  as  if  about  to  speak 
forthwith,  yet  never  spoke  a  word.  There  was  also  among 
the  rest  a  raw-boned,  lanky  fellow  who  had  bitten  the 
heart  out  of  an  oat-cake  and  held  the  rim  of  it  in  his  fingers 
like  a  new  moon,  waving  it  around  while  he  talked,  until  the 
little  man  beside  him  popped  it  deftly  out  of  his  grasp  and 
ate  it  before  the  other  saw  where  it  was  gone.  But  when 
he  made  out  what  was  become  of  that  oat-cake  he  rose  up 
solemnly,  took  the  little  man  by  the  collar  as  a  huntsman 
takes  a  pup,  and  laid  him  softly  in  the  grass  without  a  word. 

What  a  laughing  and  going-on  was  then !  It  was  as  if 
they  all  were  growing  young  again.  And  in  the  middle 
of  the  row  a  head  popped  over  the  quick-set  hedge,  and  a 
most  stentorian  voice  called  out,  "  Here,  here !  Go  slow— I 
want  a  piece  of  that ! " 


IN  THE  TWINKLING  OF  AN  EYE  223 

They  all  looked  up,  and  the  moment  they  spied  that 
laughing  face  and  cloak  of  Holland  cloth,  raised  a  shout 
of  "What,  there!"  "Well  met!"  "Come  in,  Ben." 
"Where  hast  thou  tarried  so  long?"  and  the  like;  while 
the  waiter  ran  to  open  the  gate  and  let  the  stranger  in. 

A  quiet  man  with  a  little  chestnut-colored  beard  and 
hazel  eyes,  which  lit  up  quickly  at  sight  of  the  stranger 
over  the  hedge,  arose  from  his  place  by  the  table  and  went 
down  the  path  with  hands  outstretched  to  greet  him. 

"  Welcome,  welcome,  hurly-burly  Ben,"  said  he.  "  We  Ve 
missed  thee  from  the  feast.  Art  well  T  And  what 's  the 
good  word  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Will,  thou  gentle  rogue ! "  the  other  cried,  catching 
the  hands  of  the  quiet  man  and  holding  him  off  while  he 
looked  at  him  there.  "  How  thou  stealest  one's  heart  with 
the  glance  of  thine  eye !  I  was  going  to  give  thee  a  piece 
of  my  mind ;  but  a  plague,  old  heart !  who  could  chide  thee 
to  thy  face  ?  Am  I  well  T  Ay,  exceedingly  well.  And 
the  news  ?  Jove !  the  best  that  was  baked  at  the  Queen's 
to-day,  and  straight  from  the  oven-door !  The  thing  is 
done— huff,  puff,  and  away  we  go !  But  come  on— this 
needs  telling  to  the  rest." 

They  came  up  the  path  together,  the  big  man  crunching 
the  mussel-shells  beneath  his  sturdy  tread,  and  so  into  the 
circle  of  yellow  light  that  came  down  from  the  lantern 
among  the  apple-leaves,  the  big  man  with  his  arm  around 
the  quiet  man's  shoulders,  holding  his  hand ;  for  the  quiet 
man  was  not  so  large  as  the  other,  although  withal  no  little 
man  himself,  and  very  well  built  and  straight 


224  MASTER  SKYLARK 

His  tabard  was  black,  without  sleeves,  and  his  doublet 
was  scarlet  silk.  His  collar  and  wrist-bands  were  white 
Holland  linen  turned  loosely  back,  and  his  face  was  frank 
and  fair  and  free.  He  was  not  old,  but  his  hair  was  thin 
upon  his  brow.  His  nose  and  his  full,  high  forehead  were 
as  cleanly  cut  as  a  finely  chiseled  stone ;  and  his  sensitive 
mouth  had  a  curve  that  was  tender  and  sad,  though  he 
smiled  all  the  while,  a  glimpse  of  his  white  teeth  showing 
through,  and  his  little  mustache  twitching  with  the  ripple 
of  his  long  upper  lip.  His  flowing  hair  was  chestnut- 
colored,  like  his  beard,  and  curly  at  the  ends;  and  his 
melancholy  eyelids  told  of  study  and  of  thought;  but 
under  them  the  kindly  eyes  were  bright  with  pleasant 
fancy. 

"  What,  there,  all  of  you !  "  said  he ;  "a  good  investment 
for  your  ears ! " 

"  Out  with  it,  Will !  "  they  cried,  and  whirled  around. 

"The  Queen  hath  made  Lord  Hunsdon  chamberlain," 
the  big  man  said. 

An  instant's  hush  fell  on  the  garden.  No  one  spoke ; 
but  they  caught  each  other  by  the  hand,  and,  suddenly, 
the  silence  there  seemed  somehow  louder  than  a  shout. 

"  We  '11  build  the  new  Globe  play-house,  lads,  and  sweep 
the  Bankside  clean  from  end  to  end !  "  a  sturdy  voice  broke 
sharply  on  the  hush.  And  then  they  cheered— a  cheer  so 
loud  that  people  on  the  river  stopped  their  boats,  and  came 
ashore  asking  where  the  fire  was.  And  over  all  the  cheer- 
ing rose  the  big  man's  voice ;  for  the  quiet  man  was  silent, 
and  the  big  man  cheered  for  two. 


IN  THE  TWINKLING  OP  AN  EYE  22S 

"Pull  up  thy  rose-bushes,  Will,"  cried  one,  "and  set 
out  laurels  in  their  stead— thou  'It  need  them  all  for 
crowns." 

"Ay,  Will,  our  savor  is  not  gone— Queen  Bess  knows 
salt ! " 

"  With  Will  and  Ben  for  meat  and  crust,  and  the  rest 
of  us  for  seasoning,  the  court  shall  say  it  never  ate  such 
master  pie ! " 

"We  '11  make  the  walls  of  Whitehall  ring  come  New 
Year  next,  or  Twelfth  Night  and  Shrove  Tuesday." 

"  Ay,  that  we  will,  old  gossip !     Here  's  to  thee ! n 

"  Here  's  to  the  company,  all  of  us ! " 

"  And  a  health  to  the  new  Lord  Chamberlain ! " 

"  God  save  the  Queen ! " 

With  that,  they  shook  each  other's  hands,  as  merry  as 
men  could  be,  and  laughed,  because  their  hearts  ran  short 
of  words ;  for  these  were  young  Lord  Hunsdoii's  men,  late 
players  to  the  Queen  in  the  old  Lord  Chamberlain's  troupe ; 
who,  for  a  while  deprived  of  favor  by  his  death,  were  now, 
by  this  succession  of  his  son,  restored  to  prestige  at  the 
court,  and  such  preferment  as  none  beside  them  ever  won, 
not  even  the  Earl  of  Pembroke's  company. 

There  was  Kemp,  the  stout  tragedian ;  gray  John  Lowin, 
the  walking-man;  Diccon  Burbage,  and  Cuthbert  his 
brother,  master-players  and  managers ;  Robin  Armin,  the 
humorsome  jester ;  droll  Dick  Tarlton,  the  king  of  fools. 
There  was  Blount,  and  Pope,  and  Hemynge,  and  Thomas 
Greene,  and  Joey  Taylor,  the  acting-boy,  deep  in  the  heart 
of  a  honey-bowl,  yet  who  one  day  was  to  play  "Hamlet" 
if 


226  MASTER  SKYLARK 

as  no  man  ever  has  played  it  since.  And  there  were 
others,  whose  names  and  doings  have  vanished  with  them ; 
and  beside  these— "What,  merry  hearts!"  the  big  man 
cried,  and  clapped  his  neighbor  on  the  back ;  "  we  '11  have 
a  supper  at  the  Mermaid  Inn.  We  '11  feast  on  reason, 
reason  on  the  feast,  toast  the  company  with  wit,  and  com- 
pany the  wit  with  toast— why,  pshaw,  we  are  good  fellows 
all!"  He  laughed,  and  they  laughed  with  him.  That 
was  "  rare  Ben  Jonson's  "  way. 

"  There  's  some  one  knocking,  master,"  said  the  boy. 

A  quick  tap-tapping  rattled  on  the  wicket-gate. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  quiet  man. 

"  'T  is  Edmund  with  the  news,"  cried  one. 

"  I  've  dished  him,"  said  Ben  Jonson. 

"'T  is  Condell  come  to  raise  our  wages,"  said  Robin 
Armin,  with  a  grin. 

"  Thou  'It  raise  more  hopes  than  wages,  Bob,"  said  Tarl- 
ton,  mockingly. 

"  It  is  a  boy,"  the  waiter  said,  "  who  saith  that  he  must 
see  thee,  master,  on  his  life." 

The  quiet  man  arose. 

"  Sit  down,  Will,"  said  Greene ;  "  he  '11  pick  thy  pocket 
with  a  doleful  lie." 

"  There  's  nothing  in  it,  Tom,  to  pick." 

"  Then  give  him  no  more  than  half, "said  Armin,  soberly, 
"  lest  he  squander  it !  " 

"He  saith  he  comes  from  Stratford  town,"  the  boy 
went  on. 

"  Then  tell  him  to  go  back  again,"  said  Master  Ben  Jon- 


IN  THE  TWINKLING  OF  AN  EYE  227 

son ;  "  we  've  sucked  the  sweet  from  Stratford  town— be 
off  with  his  seedy  dregs !  " 

11  Gro  bring  him  in,"  said  the  quiet  man. 

"Nay,  Will,  don't  have  him  in.  This  makes  the  third 
within  the  month— wilt  father  all  the  strays  from  Strat- 
ford town?  Here,  Ned,  give  him  this  shilling,  and  tell 
him  to  be  off  to  his  cony-burrow  as  fast  as  his  legs  can 
trot." 

"  We  '11  see  him  first,"  said  the  quiet  man,  stopping  the 
other's  shilling  with  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  Willy-nilly ! "  the  big  man  cried ;  "  wilt  be  a  kite 
to  float  all  the  draggle-tails  that  flutter  down  from  War- 
wickshire f  " 

"  Why,  Ben,"  replied  the  quiet  man,  "  't  is  not  the  kite 
that  floats  the  tail,  but  the  wind  which  floats  both  kite 
and  tail.  Thank  God,  we  've  caught  the  rising  wind ;  so, 
hey  for  draggle-tails !— we  '11  take  up  all  we  can." 

The  waiter  was  coming  up  the  path,  and  by  his  side,  a 
little  back,  bareheaded  and  flushed  with  running,  came 
Nicholas  Attwood.  He  had  followed  the  big  man  through 
the  fields  from  the  gates  of  the  Falcon  Inn. 

He  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  lantern's  glow  and  looked 
around  uncertain,  for  the  light  was  in  his  eyes. 

"  Come,  boy,  what  is  it  ? "  asked  Ben  Jonson. 

Nick  peered  through  the  brightness.  "  Master  Will- 
Master  Will  Shakspere !  "  he  gasped. 

"  Well,  my  lad,"  said  the  quiet  man ;  "  what  unit  thou  have 
of  me  9  n 

Nick  Attwood  had  come  to  his  fellow-townsman  at  last 


228  MASTER  SKYLARK 

OVER  the  hedge  where  the  lantern  shone  through  the 
green  of  the  apple-leaves  came  a  sound  of  voices  talking 
fast,  a  listening  hush,  then  a  clapping  of  hands,  with 
mingled  cries  of  "  Good  boy !  "  "  Right,  lad ;  do  not  leave 
her  till  thou  must ! "  and  at  the  last,  "  What !  take  thee 
home  to  thy  mother,  lad  ?  Ay,  marry,  that  will  I !  "  And 
the  last  was  the  voice  of  the  quiet  man. 

Then  f ollowed  laughter  and  scraps  of  song,  merry  talk- 
ing, and  good  cheer,  for  they  all  made  glad  together. 

ACROSS  the  fields  beyond  the  hedge  the  pathway  ran 
through  Paris  Garden,  stark  and  clear  in  the  white  moon- 
shine, save  here  and  there  where  the  fog  from  the  marsh 
crept  down  to  meet  the  river-mist,  and  blotted  out  the 
landscape  as  it  went.  In  the  north  lay  London,  stirring 
like  a  troubled  sea.  In  the  south  was  drowsy  silence,  save 
for  the  crowing  of  the  cocks,  and  now  and  then  the  bay. 
ing  of  a  hound  far  off.  The  smell  of  bears  was  on  the 
air;  the  river- wind  breathed  kennels.  The  Swan  play- 
house stood  up,  a  great,  blue  blank  against  the  sky.  The 
sound  of  voices  was  remote.  The  river  made  a  constant 
murmur  in  the  murk  beyond  the  landing-place ;  the  trees 
moved  softly. 

Low  in  the  west,  the  lights  of  the  Falcon  Inn  were 
shrunk  to  pin-pricks  in  the  dark.  They  seemed  to  wink 
and  to  shut  their  eyes.  It  was  too  far  to  see  the  people 
passing  by. 

On  a  sudden  one  light  winked  and  did  not  open  any 
more ;  and  through  the  night  a  faint,  far  cry  came  drifting 


IN  THE  TWINKLING  OF  AN  EYE  229 

down  the  river-wind— a  long,  thin  cry,  like  the  wavering 
screech  of  an  owl— a  shrill,  high,  ugly  sound ;  the  lights 
began  to  wink,  wink,  wink,  to  dance,  to  shift,  to  gather 
into  one  red  star.  Out  of  the  darkness  came  a  wisp  of 
something  moving  in  the  path. 

Where  the  moonlight  lay  it  scudded  like  the  shadow  of 
a  windy  cloud,  now  lost  to  sight,  now  seen  again.  Out 
of  the  shadow  came  a  man,  with  hands  outstretched  and 
cap  awry,  running  as  if  he  were  mad.  As  he  ran  he  looked 
from  side  to  side,  and  turned  his  head  for  the  keener  ear. 
He  was  panting  hard. 

When  he  reached  the  ditch  he  paused  in  fault,  ran  on 
a  step  or  two,  went  back,  stood  hesitating  there,  clenching 
his  hands  in  the  empty  wind,  listening ;  for  the  mist  was 
grown  so  thick  that  he  could  scarcely  see. 

But  as  he  stood  there  doubtfully,  uncertain  of  the  way, 
catching  the  wind  in  his  nervous  hands,  and  turning 
about  in  a  little  space  like  an  animal  in  a  cage,  over  the 
hedge  through  the  apple-boughs  a  boy's  clear  voice  rose 
suddenly,  singing  a  rollicking  tune,  with  a  snapping  of 
fingers  and  tapping  of  feet  in  time  to  its  merry  Hit. 

Then  the  man  in  the  mist,  when  he  heard  that  clear, 
high  voice,  turned  swiftly  to  it,  crying  out,  "  The  Skylark ! 
Zooks !  It  is  the  place ! "  and  ran  through  the  fog  to 
where  the  lantern  glimmered  through  the  hedge.  The 
light  fell  in  a  yellow  stream  across  his  face.  He  was  pale 
as  a  ghost.  "  What,  there,  within !  What,  there ! "  he 
panted.  "  Shakspere !  Jonson !  Any  one ! " 

The  song  stopped  short 


230  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Who  7s  there  ? "  called  the  voice  of  the  quiet  man. 

"  'T  is  I,  Tom  Heywood.  There  's  to-do  for  players  at 
the  Falcon  Inn.  Gaston  Carew  hath  stabbed  Fulk  San- 
dells,  for  cheating  at  the  dice,  as  dead  as  a  door-nail,  and 
hath  been  taken  by  the  watch  1  * 


CHAPTER  XXXn 

THE  LAST  OP  GASTON  CAREW 

IT  was  Monday  morning,  and  a  beautiful  day. 
Master  Will  Shakspere  was  reading  a  new  play  to 
Masters  Ben  Jonson  and  Diccon  Burbage  at  the  Mermaid 
Inn. 

Thomas  Pope,  the  player,  and  Peter  Hemynge,  the 
manager,  were  there  with  them  at  the  table  under  the 
little  window.  The  play  was  a  comedy  of  a  wicked  money- 
lender named  Shylock;  but  it  was  a  comedy  that  made 
Nick  shudder  as  he  sat  on  the  bench  by  the  door  and  lis- 
tened to  it  through  happy  thoughts  of  going  home. 

Sunday  had  passed  like  a  wondrous  dream.  He  was 
free.  Master  Carew  was  done  for.  On  Saturday  morning 
Master  Will  Shakspere  would  set  out  on  the  journey  to 
Stratford  town,  for  his  regular  summer  visit  there ;  and 
Nick  was  going  with  him— going  to  Stratford— going 
home! 

The  comedy-reading  went  on.  Master  Burbage,  his 
moving  face  alive,  leaned  forward  on  his  elbows,  nodding 
now  and  then,  and  saying,  "  Fine,  fine ! "  under  his  breath. 

231 


232  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Master  Pope  was  making  faces  suited  to  the  words,  not 
knowing  that  he  did  so.  Nick  watched  him,  fascinated. 

A  man  came  hurrying  down  Cheapside,  and  peered  in 
at  the  open  door.  It  was  Master  Dick  Jones  of  the  Ad- 
miral's company.  He  looked  worried  and  as  if  he  had 
not  slept.  His  hair  was  uncombed,  and  the  skin  under 
his  eyes  hung  in  little  bags.  He  squinted  so  that  he  might 
see  from  the  broad  daylight  outside  into  the  darker  room. 

"Gaston  Garew  wants  to  see  thee,  Skylark,"  said  he, 
quickly,  seeing  Nick  beside  the  door. 

Nick  drew  back.  It  seemed  as  if  the  master-player  must 
be  lying  in  wait  outside  to  catch  him  if  he  stirred  abroad. 

"  He  says  that  he  must  see  thee  without  fail,  and  that 
straightway.  He  is  in  Newgate  prison.  Wilt  come  ? " 

Nick  shook  his  head. 

"  But  he  says  indeed  he  must  see  thee.  Come,  Skylark, 
I  will  bring  thee  back.  I  am  no  kidnapper.  Why,  it  is 
the  last  thing  he  will  ever  ask  of  thee.  'T  is  hard  to  re- 
fuse so  small  a  favor  to  a  doomed  man." 

"  Thou  'It  surely  fetch  me  back  ? " 

"Here,  Master  Will  Shakspere,"  called  the  Admiral's 
player ;  "I  am  to  fetch  the  boy  to  Carew  in  Newgate  on 
an  urgent  matter.  My  name  is  Jones — Dick  Jones,  of 
Henslowe's  company.  Burbage  knows  me.  I  '11  bring 
him  back." 

Master  Shakspere  nodded,  reading  on;  and  Burbage 
waved  his  hand,  impatient  of  interruption.  Nick  arose 
and  went  with  Jones. 

As  they  came  up  Newgate  street  to  the  crossing  of  Gilt- 


THE  LAST  OF  GASTON  CAREW        233 

spur  and  the  Old  Bailey,  the  black  arch  of  the  ancient  gate 
loomed  grimly  against  the  sky,  its  squinting  window-slits 
peering  down  like  the  eyes  of  an  old  ogre.  The  bell  of  St. 
Sepulchre's  was  tolling,  and  there  was  a  crowd  about  the 
door,  which  opened,  letting  out  a  black  cart  in  which  was 
a  priest  praying  and  a  man  in  irons  going  to  be  hanged 
on  Tyburn  Hill.  His  sweating  face  was  ashen  gray ;  and 
when  the  cart  came  to  the  church  door  they  gave  him 
mockingly  a  great  bunch  of  fresh,  Bright  flowers.  Nick 
could  not  bear  to  watch. 

The  turnkey  at  the  prison  gate  was  a  crop-headed  fellow 
with  jowls  like  a  bulldog,  and  no  more  mercy  in  his  face 
than  a  chopping-block.  " Graston  Carew,  the  player?"  he 
growled.  "  Ye  can't  come  in  without  a  permit  from  the 
warden." 

"  We  must,"  said  Jones. 

"Must?"  said  the  turnkey.  "I  am  the  only  one  who 
says  '  must '  in  Newgate !  "  and  slammed  the  door  in  their 
faces. 

The  player  clinked  a  shilling  on  the  bar. 

"  It  was  a  boy  he  said  would  come,"  growled  the  turnkey 
through  the  wicket,  pocketing  the  shilling ;  "  so  just  the 
boy  goes  up.  A  shilling's  worth,  ye  mind,  and  not  another 
wink."  He  drew  Nick  in,  and  dropped  the  bars. 

It  was  a  foul,  dark  place,  and  full  of  evil  smells.  Drops 
of  water  stood  on  the  cold  stone  walls,  aod  a  green  mould 
crept  along  the  floor.  The  air  was  heavy  and  dank,  and 
it  began  to  be  hard  for  Nick  to  breathe.  The  men  in  the 
dungeons  were  singing  a  horrible  song,  and  in  the  corner 


234  MASTER  SKYLARK 

was  a  half -naked  fellow  shackled  to  the  floor.  "  Give  me 
a  penny,"  he  said,  "  or  I  will  curse  thee."  Nick  shuddered. 

"  Up  with  thee,"  said  the  turnkey,  gruffly,  unlocking  the 
door  to  the  stairs. 

The  common  room  above  was  packed  with  miserable 
wretches,  fighting,  dancing,  gibbering  like  apes.  Some 
were  bawling  ribald  songs,  others  moaning  with  fever. 
The  strongest  kept  the  window-ledges  near  light  and  air 
by  sheer  main  force,  and  were  dicing  on  the  dirty  sill. 
The  turnkey  pushed  and  banged  his  way  through  them, 
Nick  clinging  desperately  to  his  jerkin. 

In  a  cell  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  there  was  a  Spanish 
renegade  who  cursed  the  light  when  the  door  was  opened, 
and  cursed  the  darkness  when  it  closed.  "  Cesare  el  Moro, 
Cesare  el  Moro,"  he  was  saying  over  and  over  again  to 
himself,  as  if  he  feared  that  he  might  forget  his  own 
name. 

Carew  was  in  the  middle  cell,  ironed  hand  and  foot. 
He  had  torn  his  sleeves  and  tucked  the  lace  under  the 
rough  edges  of  the  metal  to  keep  it  from  chafing  the  skin. 
He  sat  on  a  pile  of  dirty  straw,  with  his  face  in  his  folded 
arms  upon  his  knees.  By  his  side  was  a  broken  biscuit 
and  an  empty  stone  jug.  He  had  his  fingers  in  his  ears 
to  shut  out  the  tolling  of  the  knell  for  the  man  who  had 
gone  to  be  hanged. 

The  turnkey  shook  the  bars.     "  Here,  wake  up !  "  he  said. 

Carew  looked  up.  His  eyes  were  swollen,  and  his  face 
was  covered  with  a  two  days'  beard.  He  had  slept  in  his 
clothes,  and  they  were  full  of  broken  straw  and  creases. 


THE  LAST  OF  GASTON  CAREW  235 

But  his  haggard  face  lit  up  when  he  saw  the  boy,  and  he 
came  to  the  grating  with  an  eager  exclamation:  "And 
thou  hast  truly  cornel  To  the  man  thou  dost  hate  so 
bitterly,  but  wilt  not  hate  any  more.  Come,  Nick,  thou 
wilt  not  hate  me  any  more.  'T  will  not  be  worth  thy 
while,  Nick;  the  night  is  coming  fast." 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Nick,  "it  is  not  so  dark  outside— t  is 
scarcely  noon ;  and  thou  wilt  soon  be  out" 

"Out?  Ay,  on  Tyburn  Hill,"  said  the  master-player, 
quietly.  "  I  've  spent  my  whole  life  for  a  bit  of  hempen 
cord.  I  ;ve  taken  my  last  cue.  Last  night,  at  twelve 
o'clock,  I  heard  the  bellman  under  the  prison  walls  call 
my  name  with  the  names  of  those  already  condemned. 
The  play  is  nearly  out,  Nick,  and  the  people  will  be  going 
home.  It  has  been  a  wild  play,  Nick,  and  ill  played." 

"  Here,  if  ye  Ve  anything  to  say,  be  saying  it,"  said  the 
turnkey.  "  'T  is  a  shilling's  worth,  ye  mind." 

Carew  lifted  up  his  head  in  the  old  haughty  way,  and 
clapped  his  shackled  hand  to  his  hip— they  had  taken  his 
poniard  when  he  came  into  the  gaol.  A  queer  look  came 
over  his  face;  taking  his  hand  away,  he  wiped  it  hur- 
riedly upon  his  jerkin.  There  were  dark  stains  upon  the 
silk. 

"  Ye  sent  for  me,  sir,"  said  Nick. 

Carew  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow.  "Yes,  yes,  I 
sent  for  thee.  I  have  something  to  tell  thee,  Nick."  He 
hesitated,  and  looked  through  the  bars  at  the  boy,  as  if  to 
read  his  thoughts.  "  Thou  'It  be  good  and  true  to  Cicely 
—thou  'It  deal  fairly  with  my  girl!  Why,  surely,  yea." 


236  MASTEE  SKYLAEK 

He  paused  again,  as  if  irresolute.  "  I  '11  trust  thee,  Nick. 
We  Ve  taken  money,  thou  and  I ;  good  gold  and  silver— 
tsst !  what 's  that  ? "  He  stopped  suddenly. 

Nick  heard  no  sound  but  the  Spaniard's  cursing. 

"  'T  is  my  fancy,"  Carew  said.  "  Well,  then,  we  've  taken 
much  good  money,  Nick;  and  I  have  not  squandered  all 
of  it.  Hark  'e— thou  knowest  the  old  oak  wainscot  in  the 
dining-hall,  and  the  carven  panel  by  the  Spanish  chest? 
Good,  then !  Upon  the  panel  is  a  cherubin,  and— tsst ! 
what 's  that,  I  say  ? " 

There  was  a  stealthy  rustling  in  the  right-hand  cell. 
The  fellow  in  it  had  his  ear  pressed  close  against  the  bars. 
"  He  is  listening,"  said  Nick. 

The  fellow  cursed  and  shook  his  fist,  and  then,  when 
Master  Carew  dropped  his  voice  and  would  have  gone  on 
whispering,  set  up  so  loud  a  howling  and  clanking  of  his 
chains  that  the  lad  could  not  make  out  one  word  the 
master-player  said. 

"  Peace,  thou  dog ! "  cried  Carew,  and  kicked  the  grat- 
ing. But  the  fellow  only  yelled  the  louder. 

Carew  looked  sorely  troubled.  "I  dare  not  let  him 
hear,"  said  he.  "  The  very  walls  of  Newgate  leak." 

"  Yah,  yah,  yah,  thou  gallows-bird  !  " 

"Yet  I  must  teU  thee,  Nick." 

"  Yah,  yah,  dangle-rope  !  " 

"  Stay !  would  Will  Shakspere  come  ?  Why,  here,  I  '11 
send  him  word.  He  '11  come— Will  Shakspere  never  bore 
a  grudge ;  and  I  shall  so  soon  go  where  are  no  grudges, 
envy,  storms,  or  noise,  but  silence  and  the  soft  lap  of  ever- 


THE  LAST  OF  GASTON  CAEEW        237 

lasting  sleep.  He  '11  come— Nick,  bid  hin>  come,  upon  his 
life,  to  the  Old  Bailey  when  I  am  taken  up." 

Nick  nodded.    It  was  strange  to  have  his  master  beg. 

Carew  was  looking  up  at  a  thin  streak  of  light  that  came 
in  through  the  narrow  window  at  the  stair.  "  Nick,"  said 
he,  huskily,  "  last  night  I  dreamed  I  heard  thee  singing ; 
but 't  was  where  there  was  a  sweet,  green  field  and  a  stream 
flowing  through  a  little  wood.  Methought  't  was  on  the 
road  past  Warwick  toward  Coventry.  Thou  'It  go  there 
some  day  and  remember  Gaston  Carew,  wilt  not,  lad? 
And,  Nick,  for  thine  own  mother's  sake,  do  not  altogether 
hate  him ;  he  was  not  so  bad  a  man  as  he  might  easily 
have  been." 

"  Come,"  growled  the  turnkey,  who  was  pacing  up  and 
down  like  a  surly  bear ;  "  have  done.  'T  is  a  fat  shilling's 
worth." 

"  'T  was  there  I  heard  thee  sing  first,  Nick,"  said  Carew, 
holding  to  the  boy's  hands  through  the  bars.  "  I  '11  never 
hear  thee  sing  again." 

"  Why,  sir,  I  '11  sing  for  thee  now,"  said  Nick,  choking. 

The  turnkey  was  coming  back  when  Nick  began  sud- 
denly to  sing.  He  looked  up,  staring.  Such  a  thing  dura- 
founded  him.  He  had  never  heard  a  song  like  that  in 
Newgate.  There  were  rules  in  prison.  "  Here,  here,"  he 
cried,  "  be  still ! "  But  Nick  sang  on. 

The  groaning,  quarreling,  and  cursing  were  silent  all  at 
once.  The  guard  outside,  who  had  been  sharpening  his 
pike  upon  the  window-ledge,  stopped  the  shrieking  sound. 
Silence  like  a  restful  sleep  fell  upon  the  weary  place. 


238  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Through  dark  corridors  and  down  the  mildewed  stairs  the 
quaint  old  song  went  floating  as  a  childhood  memory  into 
an  old  man's  dream ;  and  to  Gaston  Carew's  ear  it  seemed 
as  if  the  melody  of  earth  had  all  been  gathered  in  that 
little  song— all  but  the  sound  of  the  voice  of  his  daughter 
Cicely. 

It  ceased,  and  yet  a  gentle  murmur  seemed  to  steal 
through  the  mouldy  walls,  of  birds  and  flowers,  sunlight 
and  the  open  air,  of  once-loved  mothers,  and  of  long-for- 
gotten homes.  The  renegade  had  ceased  his  cursing,  and 
was  whispering  a  fragment  of  a  Spanish  prayer  he  had 
not  heard  for  many  a  day. 

Carew  muttered  to  himself.  "And  now  old  cares  are 
locked  in  charmed  sleep,  and  new  griefs  lose  their  bitter- 
ness, to  hear  thee  sing— to  hear  thee  sing.  God  bless  thee, 
Nick ! " 

"  'T  is  three  good  shillings'  worth  o'  time,"  the  turnkey 
growled,  and  fumbled  with  the  keys.  "All  for  one  shil- 
ling, too,"  said  he,  and  kicked  the  door-post  sulkily.  "  But 
a  plague,  I  say,  a  plague !  'T  is  no  one's  business  but  mine. 
I  've  a  good  two  shillings'  worth  in  my  ears.  'T  is  thirty 
year  since  I  ha'  heard  the  like  o'  that.  But  what 's  a  gaol 
for  ?— man's  delight  ?  Nay,  nay.  Here,  boy,  time  's  up ! 
Come  out  o'  that."  But  he  spoke  so  low  that  he  scarcely 
heard  himself;  and  going  to  the  end  of  the  corridor,  he 
marked  at  random  upon  the  wall. 

"  Oh,  Nick,  I  love  thee,"  said  the  master-player,  holding 
the  boy's  hands  with  a  bitter  grip.  "  Dost  thou  not  love 
me  just  a  little  ?  Come,  lad,  say  that  thou  lovest  me." 


"  'WHY.  SIR,  I  tL  SING  FOR  THEE  NOW.'  SAID  NICK.  CHOKINO.* 


THE  LAST  OF  GASTON  CAKEW        239 

"Nay,  Master  Carew,"  Nick  answered  soberly,  "I  do  na 
love  thee,  and  I  will  na  say  I  do,  sir ;  but  I  pity  thee  with 
all  my  heart.  And,  sir,  if  thy  being  out  would  keep  me 
stolen,  still  I  think  I  'd  wish  thee  out— for  Cicely.  But, 
Master  Carew,  do  na  break  my  hands." 

The  master-player  loosed  his  grasp.  "  I  will  not  seek 
to  be  excused  to  thee,"  he  said  huskily.  "  I  've  prisoned  thee 
as  that  clod  prisons  me ;  but,  Nick,  the  play  is  almost  out, 
down  comes  the  curtain  on  my  heels,  and  thy  just  blame 
will  find  no  mark.  Yet,  Nick,  now  that  I  am  fast  and 
thou  art  free,  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  feel  that 't  was 
not  I  who  set  thee  free.  Thou  canst  go  when  pleaseth 
thee,  and  thank  me  nothing  for  it.  And,  Nick,  as  my  sins 
be  forgiven  me,  I  truly  meant  to  set  thee  free  and  send 
thee  home.  I  did,  upon  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of 
mine  honour ! " 

"  Time  's  good  and  up,  sirs,"  said  the  turnkey,  coming 
back. 

Carew  thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast. 

"  I  must  be  going,  sir,"  said  Nick. 

"Ay,  so  thou  must— all  things  must  go.  Oh,  Nick,  be 
friendly  with  me  now,  if  thou  wert  never  friendly  before. 
Kiss  me,  lad.  There— now  thy  hand."  The  master-player 
clasped  it  closely  in  his  own,  and  pressing  something  into 
the  palm,  shut  down  the  fingers  over  it.  "  Quick !  Keep 
it  hid,"  he  whispered.  "  'T  is  the  chain  I  had  from  Strat- 
ford's burgesses,  to  some  good  usage  come  at  last." 

"  Must  I  come  and  fetch  thee  out  ? "  growled  the  turnkey. 

"  I  be  coming,  sir." 


240  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  Thou  'It  send  Will  Shakspere  ?  And,  oh,  Nick,"  cried 
Carew,  holding  him  yet  a  little  longer,  "thou  'It  keep  my 
Cicely  from  harm  ? " 

"  I  '11  do  my  best,"  said  Nick,  his  own  eyes  full. 

The  turnkey  raised  his  heavy  bunch  of  keys.  "  I  '11  ding 
thee  out  o'  this,"  said  he. 

And  the  last  Nick  Attwood  saw  of  Gaston  Carew  was 
his  wistful  eyes  hunting  down  the  stairway  after  him,  and 
his  hand,  with  its  torn  fine  laces,  waving  at  him  through 
the  bars. 

And  when  he  came  to  the  Mermaid  Inn  Master  Shak- 
spere's  comedy  was  done,  and  Master  Ben  Jonson  was 
telling  a  merry  tale  that  made  the  tapster  sick  with 
laughing. 


CHAPTER  XXXIH 

CICELY  DISAPPEARS 

Master  Will  Shakspere  should  be  so  great 
JL  seemed  passing  strange  to  Nick,  lie  felt  so  soon  at  home 
with  him.  It  seemed  as  if  the  master-maker  of  plays  had 
a  magic  way  of  going  out  to  and  about  the  people  he  met, 
and  of  fitting  his  humor  to  them  as  though  he  were  a 
glover  with  their  measure  in  his  hand. 

With  Nick  he  was  nothing  all  day  long  but  a  jolly,  wise, 
and  gentle-hearted  boy,  wearing  his  greatness  like  an  old 
cloth  coat,  as  if  it  were  a  long-accustomed  thing,  and  quite 
beyond  all  pride,  and  went  about  his  business  in  a  very 
simple  way.  But  in  the  evening  when  the  wits  were  met 
together  at  his  house,  and  Nick  sat  on  the  hindmost  bench 
and  watched  the  noble  gentlemen  who  came  to  listen  to  the 
sport,  Master  Will  Shakspere  seemed  to  have  the  knack  of 
being  ever  best  among  them  all,  yet  of  never  too  much 
seeming  to  be  better  than  the  rest. 

And  though,  for  the  most  part,  he  said  but  little,  save 
when  some  pet  fancy  moved  him,  when  he  did  speak  his 
conversation  sparkled  like  a  little  meadow  brook  that 
u  241 


242  MASTER  SKYLARK 

drew  men's  best  thoughts  out  of  them  like  water  from  a 
spring. 

And  when  they  fell  to  bantering,  he  could  turn  the  fag- 
end  of  another  man's  nothing  to  good  account  in  a  way  so 
shrewd  that  not  even  Master  Ben  Jonson  could  better  him 
—and  Master  Ben  Jonson  set  up  for  a  wit.  But  Master 
Shakspere  came  about  as  quickly  as  an  English  man-of- 
war,  dodged  here  and  there  on  a  breath  of  wind,  and 
seemed  quite  everywhere  at  once;  while  Master  Jonson 
tacked  and  veered,  and  loomed  across  the  elements  like  a 
great  galleon,  pouring  forth  learned  broadsides  with  a 
most  prodigious  boom,  riddling  whatever  was  in  the  way, 
to  be  sure,  but  often  quite  missing  the  point— because 
Master  Shakspere  had  come  about,  hey,  presto,  change ! 
and  was  off  with  the  argument,  point  and  all,  upon  a  to- 
tally different  tack. 

Then  "  Tush ! "  and  "  Fie  upon  thee,  Will ! "  Master  Jon- 
son would  cry  with  his  great  bluff-hearted  laugh,  "  thou  art 
a  regular  flibbertigibbet !  I  '11  catch  thee  napping  yet,  old 
heart,  and  fill  thee  so  full  of  pepper-holes  that  thou  wilt  leak 
epigrams.  But  quits— I  must  be  home,  or  I  shall  catch  it 
from  my  wife.  Faith,  Will,  thou  shouldst  see  my  little  Ben ! " 

"  I  '11  come  some  day,"  Master  Shakspere  would  say ; 
"  give  him  my  love  " ;  and  his  mouth  would  smile,  though 
his  eyes  were  sad,  for  his  own  son  Hamnet  was  dead. 

Then,  when  the  house  was  still  again,  and  all  had  said 
good-by,  Nick  doffed  his  clothes  and  laid  him  down  to 
sleep  in  peace.  Yet  he  often  wakened  in  the  night,  be- 
cause his  heart  was  dancing  so. 


CICELY  DISAPPEARS  243 

In  the  morning,  when  the  world  began  to  stir  outside, 
and  the  early  light  came  in  at  the  window,  he  slipped  out 
of  bed  across  the  floor,  and  threw  the  casement  wide. 
Over  the  river,  and  over  the  town,  and  over  the  hills  that 
lay  blue  in  the  north,  was  Stratford ! 

The  damp,  cool  air  from  the  garden  below  seemed  a 
primrose  whiff  from  the  lane  behind  his  father's  house. 
He  could  hear  the  cocks  crowing  in  Surrey,  and  the  lowing 
of  the  kine.  There  was  a  robin  singing  in  a  bush  under 
the  window,  and  there  was  some  one  in  the  garden  with  a 
pair  of  priming-shears.  Snip-snip !  snip-snip !  he  heard 
them  going.  The  light  in  the  east  was  pink  as  a  peach- 
bloom  and  too  intense  to  bear. 

"Good-morrow,  Master  Early-bird!"  a  merry  voice 
called  up  to  him,  and  a  nosegay  dropped  on  the  window- 
ledge  at  his  side.  He  looked  down.  There  in  the  path 
among  the  rose-trees  was  Master  Will  Shakspere,  laughing. 
He  had  on  an  ancient  leathern  jacket  and  a  hat  with  a  hole 
in  its  crown ;  and  the  skirts  of  the  jacket  were  dripping 
with  dew  from  the  bushes. 

"Good-morrow,  sir,"  said  Nick,  and  bowed.  "It  is  a 
lovely  day." 

"  Most  beautiful  indeed !     How  comes  the  sun  T " 

"  Just  up,  sir ;  the  river  is  afire  with  it  now.  O-oh !  " 
Nick  held  his  breath,  and  watched  the  light  creep  down 
the  wall,  darting  long  bars  of  rosy  gold  through  the  snowy 
bloom  of  the  apple-trees,  until  it  rested  upon  Master  Shuk- 
spere's  face,  and  made  a  fleeting  glory  there. 

Then  Master  Shakspere  stretched  himself  a  little  to  U>o 


244  MASTER  SKYLAEK 

sun,  laughing  softly,  and  said,  "  It  is  the  sweetest  music  in 
the  world— morning,  spring,  and  God's  dear  sunshine ;  it 
starteth  kindness  brewing  in  the  heart,  like  sap  in  a 
withered  bud.  What  sayest,  lad  ?  We  '11  fetch  the  little 
maid  to-day ;  and  then— away  for  Stratford  town ! " 

Bur  when  Master  Shakspere  and  Nicholas  Attwood 
came  to  Gaston  Carew's  house,  the  constables  had  taken 
charge,  the  servants  were  scattering  hither  and  thither, 
and  Cicely  Carew  was  gone. 

The  bandy-legged  man,  the  butler  said,  had  come  on 
Sunday  in  great  haste,  and  packing  up  his  goods,  without 
a  word  of  what  had  befallen  his  master,  had  gone  away, 
no  one  knew  whither,  and  had  taken  Cicely  with  him.  Nor 
had  they  questioned  what  he  did,  for  they  all  feared  the 
rogue,  and  judged  him  to  have  authority. 

Nick  caught  a  moment  at  the  lintel  of  the  door.  The 
house  was  full  of  voices,  and  the  sound  of  trampling  feet 
went  up  and  down  from  room  to  room ;  but  all  he  heard 
was  Gaston  Carew's  worn  voice  saying,  "  Thou  'It  keep  my 
Cicely  from  harm  ? " 


CHAPTER  XXXTV 

THE  BANDY-LEGGED  MAN 

TTTNTTL  night  fell  they  sought  the  town  over  for  a 
\^J  trace  of  Cicely ;  but  all  to  no  avail  The  second  day 
likewise. 

The  third  day  passed,  and  still  there  were  no  tidings. 
Master  Shakspere's  face  grew  very  grave,  and  Nick's 
heart  sickened  till  he  quite  forgot  that  he  was  going 
home. 

But  on  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  which  chanced 
to  be  the  1st  of  May,  as  he  was  standing  in  the  door  of  a 
printer's  stall  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  watching  the  gaily 
dressed  holiday  crowds  go  up  and  down,  while  Robin 
Dexter*s  apprentices  bound  white-thorn  boughs  about  the 
brazen  serpent  overhead,  he  spied  the  bandy-legged  man 
among  the  rout  that  passed  the  north  gate  by  St.  Martin's 
le  Grand. 

He  had  a  yellow  ribbon  in  his  ear,  and  wore  a  bright 
plum-colored  cloak,  at  sight  of  which  Nick  cried  aloud, 
for  it  was  the  very  cloak  which  Master  Gaston  Carew  wore 
when  he  first  met  him  in  the  Warwick  road.  The  rogue 

245 


246  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

was  making  for  the  way  which  ran  from  Cheapside  to  the 
river,  and  was  walking  very  fast. 

"  Master  Shakspere !  Master  Shakspere !  "  Nick  called 
out.  But  Master  Shakspere  was  deep  in  the  proofs  of  a 
newly  published  play,  and  did  not  hear. 

The  yellow  ribbon  fluttered  in  the  sun— was  gone  be- 
hind the  churchyard  wall. 

"  Quick,  Master  Shakspere !  quick ! "  Nick  cried ;  but  the 
master- writer  frowned  at  the  inky  page ;  for  the  light  in 
the  printer's  shop  was  dim,  and  the  proof  was  very  bad. 

The  ribbon  was  gone  down  the  river- way— and  with  it 
the  hope  of  finding  Cicely.  Nick  shot  one  look  into  the 
stall.  Master  Shakspere,  deep  in  his  proofs,  was  deaf  to 
the  world  outside.  Nick  ran  to  the  gate  at  the  top  of  his 
speed.  In  the  crowd  afar  off  a  yellow  spot  went  fluttering 
like  a  butterfly  along  a  country  road.  Without  a  single 
second  thought,  he  followed  it  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  go. 

Twice  he  lost  it  in  the  throng.  But  the  yellow  patch 
bobbed  up  again  in  the  sunlight  far  beyond,  and  led  him 
on,  and  on,  and  on,  a  breathless  chase,  down  empty  lanes 
and  alley-ways,  through  unfrequented  courts,  among  the 
warehouses  and  wharf -sheds  along  the  river-front,  into  the 
kennels  of  Billingsgate,  where  the  only  sky  was  a  ragged 
slit  between  the  leaning  roofs.  His  heart  sank  low  and 
lower  as  they  went,  for  only  thieves  and  runagates  who 
dared  not  face  the  day  in  honest  streets  were  gathered 
in  wards  like  these. 

In  a  filthy  purlieu  under  Fish-street  Hill,  where  mack- 
erel-heads and  herrings  strewed  the  drains,  and  sour  kits 


THE  BANDY-LEGGED  MAN  247 

of  whitebait  stood  fermenting  in  the  sun,  the  bandy-legged 
man  turned  suddenly  into  a  dingy  court,  and  when  Nick 
reached  the  corner  of  the  entry-way  was  gone  as  though 
the  earth  had  swallowed  him. 

Nick  stopped  dismayed,  and  looked  about.  His  fore- 
head was  wet  and  his  breath  was  gone.  He  had  no  idea 
where  they  were,  but  it  was  a  dismal  hole.  Six  forbidding 
doorways  led  off  from  the  unkempt  court,  and  a  rotting 
stairway  sagged  along  the  wall.  A  crop-eared  dog,  that 
lay  in  the  sun  beside  a  broken  cart,  sprang  up  with  its 
hair  all  pointing  to  its  head,  and  snarled  at  him  with  a 
vicious  grin.  "  Begone,  thou  cur ! "  he  cried,  and  let  drive 
with  a  stone.  The  dog  ran  under  the  cart,  and  crouched 
there  barking  at  him. 

Through  an  open  door  beyond  there  came  a  sound  of 
voices  as  of  people  in  some  further  thoroughfare.  Per- 
chance the  bandy-legged  man  had  passed  that  wayf 
He  ran  across  the  court,  and  up  the  steps ;  but  came  back 
faster  than  he  went,  for  the  passageway  there  was  blind 
and  black,  a  place  unspeakable  for  dirt,  and  filled  with 
people  past  description.  A  woman  peered  out  after  him 
with  red  eyes  blinking  in  the  sun.  "Ods  bobs!"  she 
croaked,  "  a  pretty  thing !  Come  hither,  knave ;  I  want 
the  buckle  off  thy  cloak." 

Nick,  shuddering,  started  for  the  street.  But  just  as  he 
reached  the  entry-port  a  door  in  the  courtyard  opened,  and 
the  bandy-legged  man  came  out  with  a  bag  upon  his  back, 
leading  Cicely  by  the  hand. 

Seeing  Nick,  he  gave  a  cry,  believing  himself  pursued, 


248  MASTER  SKYLAEK 

and  made  for  the  open  door  again ;  but  almost  instantly 
perceiving  the  boy  to  be  alone,  slammed  shut  the  door 
and  followed  him  instead,  dragging  Cicely  over  the  stones, 
and  shouting  hoarsely,  "  Stop  there !  stop !  " 

Nick's  heart  came  up  in  his  very  throat.  His  legs  went 
water-weak.  He  ran  for  the  open  thoroughfare  without 
once  looking  back.  Yet  while  he  ran  he  heard  Cicely  crv 
out  suddenly  in  pain,  "Oh,  Gregory,  Gregory,  thou  art 
hurting  me  so ! "  and  at  the  sound  the  voice  of  Gaston 
Carew  rang  like  a  bugle  in  his  ears :  "  Thou  'It  keep  my 
Cicely  from  harm?"  He  stopped  as  short  as  if  he  had 
butted  his  head  against  a  wall,  whirled  on  his  heel,  stood 
fast,  though  he  was  much  afraid ;  and  standing  there,  his 
head  thrown  back  and  his  fists  tight  clenched,  as  if  some 
one  had  struck  him  in  the  face,  he  waited  until  they  came 
to  where  he  was.  "  Thou  hulking,  cowardly  rogue ! "  said 
he  to  the  bandy-legged  man. 

But  the  bandy-legged  man  caught  him  fast  by  the  arm, 
and  hurried  on  into  the  street,  scanning  it  swiftly  up  and 
down.  "  Two  birds  with  one  stone,  by  hen !  "  he  chuckled, 
when  he  saw  that  the  coast  was  clear.  "  They  '11  fetch  a 
pretty  penny  by  and  by." 

Poor  Cicely  smiled  through  her  tears  at  Nick.  "  I  knew 
thou  wouldst  come  for  me  soon,"  said  she.  "  But  where 
is  my  father  f " 

"  He  's  dead  as  a  herring,"  snarled  Gregory. 

"  That 's  a  lie,"  said  Nick ;  "  he  is  na  dead." 

"Don't  call  me  liar,  knave— by  hen,  I  '11  put  a  stopper 
on  thy  voice ! " 


THE  BANDY-LEGGED  MAN  249 

"  Thou  wilt  na  put  a  stopper  on  a  jug ! "  cried  Nick,  his 
heart  so  hot  for  Cicely  that  he  quite  forgot  himself.  "  I  'd 
sing  so  well  without  a  voice— it  would  butter  thy  bread 
for  thee !  Loose  my  arm,  thou  rogue." 

"  Not  for  a  thousand  golden  crowns !  I  'm  no  tom- 
noddy, to  be  gulled.  And,  hark  'e,  be  less  glib  with  that 
'rogue'  of  thine,  or  I  '11  baste  thy  back  for  thee." 

u  Oh,  don't  beat  Nick ! "  gasped  Cicely. 

"  Do  na  fret  for  me,"  said  Nick ;  "  I  be  na  feared  of  the 
cowardly  rogue ! " 

Crack !  the  man  struck  him  across  the  face.  Nick's  eyes 
flashed  hot  as  a  fire-coal.  He  set  his  teeth,  but  he  did  not 
flinch.  "  Do  na  thou  strike  me  again,  thou  rogue  !  "  said 
he. 

As  he  spoke,  on  a  sudden  his  heart  leaped  up  and  his 
fear  was  utterly  gone.  In  its  place  was  a  something  fierce 
and  strange — a  bitter  gladness,  a  joy  that  stung  and 
thrilled  him  like  great  music  in  the  night.  A  tingling  ran 
from  head  to  foot ;  the  little  hairs  of  his  flesh  stood  up ; 
he  trampled  the  stones  as  he  hurried  on.  In  his  breast 
his  heart  was  beating  like  a  bell ;  his  breath  came  hotly, 
deep  and  slow ;  the  whole  world  widened  on  his  gaze.  Oh, 
what  a  thing  is  the  heart  of  a  boy !  how  quickly  great 
things  are  done  therein !  One  instant,  put  him  to  the  touch 
—the  thing  is  done,  and  he  is  nevermore  the  same.  Like 
a  keen,  cold  wind  that  blows  through  a  window  in  the 
night,  life's  courage  had  breathed  on  Nick  Attwood's 
heart ;  the  man  that  slept  in  the  heart  of  the  boy  awoke 
and  was  aware.  The  old  song  roared  in  Nick's  ears : 


250  MASTEE  SKYLAEK 

Sir  Francis  Drake  sailed  round  the  world, 
Round  the  world,  round  the  world ; 

John  Hawkins  fought  the  "  Victory," 
And  we  ha'  beaten  Spain ! 

Whither  they  were  going  he  did  not  know.  Whither 
they  were  going  he  did  not  care.  He  was  English :  this 
was  England  still !  He  set  his  teeth  and  threw  back  his 
shoulders.  "  I  be  na  feared  of  him ! "  said  he. 

"  But  my  father  will  come  for  us  soon,  won't  he,  Nick  ? " 
faltered  Cicely. 

"  Eigh !  just  don't  he  wish  that  he  might ! "  laughed 
Goole. 

"  Oh,  ay,"  said  she,  and  nodded  bravely  to  herself ;  "  he 
may  be  very  busy  now,  and  so  he  cannot  come.  But 
presently  he  will  come  for  me  and  fetch  me  home  again." 
She  gave  a  joyous  little  skip.  "  To  fetch  me  home  again 
—ay,  surely,  my  father  will  come  for  me  anon." 

A  lump  came  up  in  Nick  Attwood's  throat.  "  But  what 
hath  he  done  to  thee,  Cicely,  and  where  is  thy  pretty 
gown  ?  "  he  asked,  as  they  hurried  on  through  the  crooked 
way ;  for  the  gown  she  wore  was  in  rags. 

Cicely  choked  down  a  sob.  "  He  hath  kept  me  locked 
up  in  a  horrible  place,  where  an  old  witch  came  in  the 
night  and  stole  my  clothes  away.  And  he  says  that  if 
money  doth  not  come  for  me  soon  he  will  turn  me  out  to 
starve." 

"  To  starve  ?  Nay,  Cicely ;  I  will  na  leave  thee  starve. 
I  '11  go  with  thee  wherever  he  taketh  thee ;  I  '11  fend  for 
thee  with  all  my  might  and  main,  and  none  shall  harm 


"'DO  NA  THOU  STRIKE  ME  AUA1.V  THOU  SOOVX-     bAID  NICK  • 


THE  BANDY-LEGGED  MAN  251 

thee  if  I  can  help.  So  cheer  up — we  will  get  away !  Thou 
needst  na  gripe  me  so,  thou  rogue ;  I  am  going  wherever 
she  goes." 

"  I  '11  see  that  ye  do,"  growled  the  bandy-legged  man. 
"  But  take  the  other  hand  of  her,  thou  jackanapes,  and 
fetch  a  better  pace  than  this— I  '11  not  be  followed  again." 

His  tone  was  bold,  but  his  eyes  were  not ;  for  they  were 
faring  through  the  slums  toward  Whitechapel  way,  and 
the  hungry  crowd  eyed  Nick's  silk  cloak  greedily.  One 
burly  rascal  with  a  scar  across  his  face  turned  back  and 
snatched  at  it.  For  his  own  safety's  sake,  the  bandy- 
legged man  struck  up  into  a  better  thoroughfare,  where 
he  skulked  along  like  a  fox  overtaken  by  dawn,  fearing 
to  meet  some  dog  he  knew. 

"  Oh,  Gregory,  go  slow ! "  pleaded  Cicely,  panting  for 
breath,  and  stumbling  over  the  cobblestones.  Goole's  only 
answer  was  a  scowl.  Nick  trotted  on  sturdily,  holding 
her  hand,  and  butting  his  shoulder  against  the  crowd  so 
that  she  might  not  be  jostled ;  for  the  press  grew  thick 
and  thicker  as  they  went.  All  London  was  a-Maying,  and 
the  foreigners  from  Soho,  too.  Up  in  the  belfries,  as  they 
passed,  the  bells  were  clanging  until  the  whole  town  rang 
like  a  smithy  on  the  eve  of  war,  for  madcap  apprentices 
had  the  ropes,  and  were  ringing  for  exercise. 

Thicker  and  thicker  grew  the  throng,  as  though  the  sea 
were  sweeping  through  the  town.  Then,  at  the  corner  of 
Mincing  Lane,  where  the  cloth- workers'  shops  were  thick, 
all  at  once  there  came  an  uproarious  din  of  men's  voices 
singing  together : 


252  MASTER  SKYLARK 

*  Three  merry  boys,  and  three  merry  boys, 

And  three  merry  boys  are  we, 
As  ever  did  sing  in  a  hempen  string 
Beneath  the  gallows-tree ! " 

And  before  the  bandy-legged  man  could  chance  upon  a 
doorway  in  which  to  stand  out  of  the  rush,  they  were 
pressed  against  the  wall  flat  as  cakes  by  a  crowd  of  bold 
apprentices  in  holiday  attire  going  out  to  a  wager  of  arch- 
ery to  be  shot  in  Finsbury  Fields. 

At  first  all  Nick  could  see  was  legs :  red  legs,  yellow  legs, 
blue  legs,  green  legs,  long  legs,  strong  legs— in  truth,  a 
very  many  of  all  sorts  of  legs,  all  stepping  out  together 
like  a  hundred-bladed  shears ;  for  these  were  the  Saddlers 
of  Cheapside  and  the  Cutters  of  Mincing  Lane,  tall,  ruddy- 
faced  fellows,  all  armed  with  clubs,  which  they  twirled 
and  tossed  and  thwacked  one  another  with  in  sport.  Some 
wore  straw  hats  with  steeple-crowns,  and  some  flat  caps 
of  green  and  white,  or  red  and  orange-tawny.  Some  had 
long  yew  bows  and  sheaves  of  arrows  decked  with  gar- 
lands ;  and  they  were  all  exceedingly  daubed  in  the  face 
with  dripping  cherry-juice  and  with  cheese,  which  they 
munched  as  they  strode  along. 

"  What,  there,  Tom  Webster,  I  say,"  cried  one,  catching 
sight  of  Cicely's  face,  "  here  is  a  Queen  o'  the  May  for 
thee ! " 

His  broad-shouldered  comrade  stopped  in  the  way,  and 
with  him  all  the  rest.  "  My  faith,  Jem  Armstrong,  't  is 
the  truth,  for  once  in  thy  life ! "  quoth  he,  and  stared  at 
Cicely.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her  panting  red  lips 


THE  BANDY-LEGGED  MAN  258 

were  fallen  apart  so  that  her  little  white  teeth  showed 
through.  Her  long,  dark  lashes  cast  shadow  circles  under 
her  eyes.  Her  curly  hair  in  elfin  locks  tossed  all  about 
her  face,  and  through  it  was  tied  a  crimson  ribbon,  mock- 
ing the  quick  color  of  the  blood  which  came  and  went 
beneath  her  delicate  skin.  "  My  faith ! "  cried  Tommy 
Webster,  "her  face  be  as  fair  as  a  K  in  a  copy-book !  Hey, 
bullies,  what  ?  let 's  make  her  queen ! " 

"  A  queen  ?  "  "  What  queen  ? "  "  Where  is  a  queen  ? " 
"  I  granny !  Tom  Webster  hath  catched  a  queen !"  "  Where 
is  she,  Tom?"  "Up  with  her,  mate,  and  let  a  fellow 
see." 

"Hands  off,  there!"  snarled  the  bandy-legged  man. 

"Up  with  her,  Tom  ! "  cried  out  the  strapping  fellow  at 
his  back.  "  A  queen  it  is ;  and  a  right  good  smacking  toll 
all  round— I  have  not  bussed  a  maid  this  day !  Up  with 
her,  Tom ! " 

"  Stand  back,  ye  rogues,  and  let  us  pass ! " 

But  alas  and  alack  for  the  bandy-legged  man !  He  could 
not  ruffle  and  swagger  it  off  as  Gaston  Carew  had  done 
of  old;  a  London  apprentice  was  harder  nuts  than  his 
cowardly  heart  could  crack. 

"  Stand  back,  ye  rogues !  "  he  cried  again. 

"  Rogues  ?  Rogues  ?  Who  calls  us  rogues  t  Hi,  Mar- 
tin  Allston,  crack  me  his  crown !  " 

"  Good  masters,"  faltered  Gregory,  seeing  that  bluster 
would  not  serve,  "  I  meant  ye  no  offense.  I  pr'ythee,  do 
not  keep  a  father  and  his  children  from  their  dying 
mother's  bed  1 " 


254  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"Nay— is  that  so?"  asked  Webster,  sobering  instantly. 
"Here,  lads,  give  way— their  mother  be  a-dying." 

The  crowd  fell  back.  "  Ah,  sirs,"  whined  Goole,  scarce 
hiding  the  joy  in  his  face,  "she  '11  thank  ye  with  her 
dying  breath.  Get  on,  thou  knave !  "  he  muttered  fiercely 
in  Nick's  ear. 

But  Nick  stood  fast,  and  caught  Tom  Webster  by  the 
arm.  "The  fellow  lieth  in  his  throat,"  said  he.  "My 
mother  is  in  Stratford  town;  and  Cicely's  mother  is 
dead." 

"  Thou  whelp !  "  cried  the  bandy-legged  man,  and  aimed 
a  sudden  blow  at  Nick,  "I  '11  teach  thee  to  hold  thy 
tongue." 

"  Oh,  no,  ye  won't,"  quoth  Thomas  Webster,  interposing 
his  long  oak  staff,  and  thrusting  the  fellow  away  so  hard 
that  he  thumped  against  the  wall ;  "  there  is  no  school  on 
holidays !  Thou  'It  teach  nobody  here  to  hold  his  tongue 
but  thine  own  self— and  start  at  that  straightway.  Dost 
take  me?— say?  Now,  Jacky  Sprat,  what  's  all  the  coil 
about  ?  Hath  this  sweet  fellow  kidnapped  thee  ? " 

"  Nay,  sir,  not  me,  but  Cicely ;  and  do  na  leave  him  take 
her,  sir,  for  he  treats  her  very  ill !  " 

"The  little  rascal  lies,"  sneered  Goole,  though  his  lips 
were  the  color  of  lead ;  "  I  am  her  legal  guardian ! " 

"  What !  How  ?  Thou  wast  her  father  but  a  moment 
since ! " 

"Nay,  nay,"  Goole  stammered,  turning  a  sickly  hue; 
"  her  father's  nearest  friend,  I  said,— he  gave  her  in  my 
charge." 


THE  BANDY-LEGOED  MAN  255 

"  My  father's  friend !"  cried  Cicely.  "Thou?  Thou! 
His  common  groom !  Why,  he  would  not  give  my  finger 
in  thy  charge." 

"  He  is  the  wiser  daddy,  then !  "  laughed  Jemmy  Arm- 
strong,  "for  the  fellow  hath  a  T  for  Tyburn  writ  upon 
his  face." 

The  eyes  of  the  bandy-legged  man  began  to  shift  from 
side  to  side ;  but  still  he  put  a  bold  front  on.  "  Stand  off ," 
said  he,  and  tried  to  thrust  Tom  Webster  back.  "  Thou  'It 
pay  the  piper  dear  for  this !  The  knave  is  a  lying  vaga- 
bond. He  hath  stolen  this  pack  of  goods." 

"  Why,  fie  for  shame ! "  cried  Cicely,  and  stamped  her 
little  foot.  "  Nick  doth  not  steal,  and  thou  knowest  it, 
Gregory  Goole!  It  is  thou  who  hast  stolen  my  pretty 
clothes,  and  the  wine  from  my  father's  house ! " 

"  Good,  sweetheart ! "  quoth  Tom  Webster,  eying  the 
bandy-legged  man  with  a  curious  snap  in  his  honest  eyes. 
"So  the  rascal  hath  stolen  other  things  than  theef  I 
thought  that  yellow  bow  of  his  was  tied  tremendous  high  f 
Why,  mates,  the  dog  is  a  branded  rogue— that  ribbon  is 
tied  through  the  hole  in  his  ear !  " 

Gregory  Goole  made  a  dash  through  the  throng  where 
the  press  was  least. 

Thump !  went  Tommy  Webster's  club,  and  a  little  puff 
of  dust  went  up  from  Gregory's  purple  cloak.  But  he 
was  off  so  sharply,  and  dodged  with  such  amazing  skill, 
that  most  of  the  blows  aimed  at  his  head  hummed  through 
the  empty  air,  or  thwacked  some  stout  apprentice  in  the 
ribs  as  they  all  went  whooping  after  him.  He  was  ont 


256  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

of  the  press  and  away  like  a  deer  down  a  covert  lane  be- 
tween two  shops  ere  one  could  say,  "Jack,  Robin's  son," 
and  left  the  stout  apprentices  at  every  flying  leap.  So 
presently  they  all  gave  over  the  chase,  and  came  back  with 
the  bag  he  had  dropped  as  he  ran ;  and  were  so  well  pleased 
with  themselves  for  what  they  had  done  that  they  gave 
three  cheers  for  all  the  Cloth-workers  and  Saddlers  in 
London,  and  then  three  more  for  Cicely  and  Nick.  They 
would  no  doubt  have  gone  right  on  and  given  three  for 
the  bag  likewise,  being  strongly  in  the  humor  of  it ;  but 
"  Hi,  Tom  Webster ! "  shouted  one  who  could  hardly  speak 
for  cherries  and  cheese  and  puffing,  "  what 's  gone  with 
the  queen  we  're  to  have  so  fast,  and  the  toll  that  we  're 
to  take?" 

Tom  "Webster  pulled  at  his  yellow  beard,  for  he  saw 
that  Cicely  was  no  common  child,  and  of  gentler  birth 
than  they.  "  I  do  not  think  she  '11  bide  the  toll,"  said  he, 
in  half  apology. 

"  What !  is  there  anything  to  pay  ? "  she  asked  with  a 
rueful  quaver  in  her  voice.  "  Oh,  Nick,  there  is  to  pay !  " 

"  We  have  no  money,  sirs,"  said  Nick ;  "  I  be  very 
sorry." 

"  If  my  father  were  here,"  said  Cicely,  "  he  would  give 
thee  a  handful  of  silver;  but  I  have  not  a  penny  to  my 
name."  She  looked  up  into  Tom  Webster's  face.  "  But, 
sir,"  said  she,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  "  if  ye  care, 
I  will  kiss  thee  upon  the  cheek." 

"  Why,  marry  come  up !  My  faith !  "  quoth  he,  and 
suddenly  blushed— to  his  own  surprise  the  most  of  all— 


THE  BANDY-LEGGED  MAN  257 

"why,  what?  Who  M  want  a  sweeter  penny  for  his 
pains?"  But  "Here— nay,  nay!"  the  others  cried; 
"ye  Ve  left  us  out.  Fair  play,  fair  play!" 

All  Cicely  could  see  was  a  forest  of  legs  that  filled  the 
lane  from  wall  to  wall,  and  six  great  fellows  towering  over 
her.  "  Why,  sirs,"  cried  she,  confusedly,  while  her  face 
grew  rosy  red,  "  ye  all  shall  kiss  my  hand— if —if — " 

"  If  what  ? "  they  roared. 

"  If  ye  will  but  wipe  your  faces  clean." 

At  the  shout  of  laughter  they  sent  up  the  constable  of 
the  cloth-men's  ward  awoke  from  a  sudden  dream  of  war 
and  bloody  insurrection,  and  came  down  Cheapside  bawl- 
ing, "  Peace,  in  the  name  of  the  Queen ! "  But  when  he 
found  it  was  only  the  apprentices  of  Mincing  Lane  out 
Maying,  he  stole  away  around  a  shop,  and  made  as  if  it 
were  some  other  fellow. 

They  took  the  humor  of  it  like  a  jolly  lot  of  bears,  and 
all  came  crowding  round  about,  wiping  their  mouths  on 
what  came  first,  with  a  lick  and  a  promise,— kerchief,  doub- 
let, as  it  chanced,— laughing,  and  shouldering  each  to  be 
first.  "  Up  with  the  little  maid  there,  Tom !  "  they  roared 
lustily. 

Cicely  gave  him  both  her  hands,  and— "Upsydaisy!" 
—she  was  on  the  top  of  the  corner  post,  where  she  stood 
with  one  hand  on  his  brawny  shoulder  to  steady  herself, 
like  a  flower  growing  by  a  wall,  bowing  gravely  all  about, 
and  holding  out  her  hand  to  be  kissed  with  as  graceful  an 
air  as  a  princess  born,  and  withal  a  sweet,  quaint  dignity 
that  abashed  the  wildest  there. 


258  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Some  one  or  two  came  blustering  as  if  her  hand  were 
not  enough;  but  Jemmy  Armstrong  rapped  them  so 
sharply  over  the  pate,  with  "  Soft,  ye  loons,  her  hand ! " 
that  they  dabbed  at  her  little  finger-tips,  and  were  out  of 
his  reach  in  a  jiffy,  rubbing  their  polls  with  a  sheepish 
grin;  for  Jemmy  Armstrong's  love-pats  would  have 
cracked  a  hazelnut. 

Some  came  again  a  second  time.  One  came  even  a  third. 
But  Cicely  knew  him  by  his  steeple-hat,  and  tucked  her 
hand  behind  her,  saying,  "  Fie,  sir,  thou  art  greedy ! n 
Whereupon  the  others  laughed  and  punched  him  in  the 
ribs  with  their  clubs,  until  he  bellowed,  "  Quits !  We  '11 
all  be  late  to  the  archery  if  we  be  not  trotting  on." 

Nick's  face  fell  at  the  merry  shout  of  "  Finsbury,  Fins- 
bury,  ho ! "  "I  dare  na  try  to  take  her  home  alone,"  said 
he ;  "  that  rogue  may  lie  in  wait  for  us." 

"  Oh,  Nick,  he  is  not  coming  back  ? "  cried  Cicely ;  and 
with  that  she  threw  her  arms  around  Tom  Webster's  neck. 
"  Oh,  take  us  with  thee,  sir— don't  leave  us  all  alone !  " 

Webster  pulled  his  yellow  beard.  "Nay,  lass,  it  would 
not  do,"  said  he ;  "we  '11  be  mad  larks  by  evening.  But 
there,  sweetheart,  don't  weep  no  more !  That  rogue  shall 
not  catch  thee  again,  I  promise  that." 

"Why,  Tom,"  quoth  Armstrong,  "what  's  the  coil? 
We  '11  leave  them  at  the  Boar's  Head  Inn  with  sixpence 
each  until  their  friends  can  come  for  them.  Hey,  mates, 
up  Great  East  Cheap ! "  And  off  they  marched  to  the 
Boar's  Head  Inn. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

\ 

A  SUDDEN  RESOLVE 

NICK  and  Cicely  were  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  sun 
beside  the  tap-room  door,  munching  a  savory  mutton- 
pie  which  Tommy  Webster  had  bought  for  them  Beside 
them  over  the  window-sill  the  tapster  twirled  his  spigot 
cheerfully,  and  in  the  door  the  carrier  was  bidding  the 
serving-maids  good-by. 

Around  fee  iim-yard  stood  a  row  of  heavy,  canvas- 
covered  wains  and  lumbering  two-wheeled  carts,  each  sur- 
mounted by  a  well-armed  guard,  and  drawn  by  six  strong 
horses  with  harness  stout  as  cannon-leathers.  Th  e  hostlers 
stood  at  the  horses'  heads,  chewing  at  wisps  of  barley-straw 
as  though  their  other  fare  was  scant,  which,  from  their 
sleek  rotundity,  was  difficult  to  believe.  The  stable-boy, 
with  a  pot  of  slush,  and  a  head  of  hair  like  a  last  year's 
haycock,  was  hastily  greasing  a  forgotten  wheel ;  while, 
out  of  the  room  where  the  servants  ate,  the  drivers  came 
stumbling  down  the  steps  with  a  mighty  smell  of  onions 
and  brawn.  The  weekly  train  from  London  into  the  north 
was  ready  to  be  off. 

259 


260  MASTER  SKYLAEK 

A  portly,  well-clad  countryman,  with  a  shrewd  but  good- 
humored  countenance,  and  a  wife  beside  him  round  and 
rosy  of  face  as  he,  came  bustling  out  of  the  private  door. 
"  How  far  yet,  Master  John  ? "  he  asked  as  he  buckled  on 
his  cloak.  "  Forty-two  miles  to  Oxford,  sir,"  replied  the 
carrier.  "We  must  be  off  if  we  're  to  lie  at  Uxbridge 
overnight ;  for  there  hath  been  rain  beyond,  sir,  and  the 
roads  be  werry  deep." 

Nick  stared  at  the  man  for  Oxford.  Forty-two  miles 
to  Oxford !  And  Oxford  lay  to  the  south  of  Stratford 
fifty  miles  and  two.  Ninety-four  miles  from  Stratford 
town !  Ninety-four  miles  from  home ! 

"  When  will  my  father  come  for  us,  Nick  ? "  asked  Cicely, 
turning  her  hand  in  the  sun  to  see  the  red  along  the  edges 
of  her  fingers. 

"  Indeed,  I  can  na  tell,"  said  Nick ;  "  Master  Will  Shak- 
spere  is  coming  anon,  and  I  shall  go  with  him." 

"  And  leave  me  by  myself  ? " 

"  Nay ;  thou  shalt  go,  too.  Thou  'It  love  to  see  his  gar- 
den and  the  rose-trees—it  is  like  a  very  country  place. 
He  is  a  merry  gentleman,  and,  oh,  so  kind !  He  is  going 
to  take  me  home." 

"  But  my  father  will  take  us  home  when  he  comes." 

"  To  Stratford  town,  I  mean.". 

"  Away  from  daddy  and  me  ?    Why,  Nick ! " 

"  But  my  mother  is  in  Stratford  town." 

Cicely  was  silent.  "  Then  I  think  I  would  go,  too,"  she 
said  quite  softly,  looking  down  as  if  there  were  a  picture 
on  the  ground.  "  When  one's  mother  is  gone  there  is  a 


A  SUDDEN  EESOLVE  261 

hurting-place  that  nought  doth  ever  come  into  any  more 
—excepting  daddy,  and— and  thee.  We  shall  miss  thee, 
Nick,  at  supper-times.  Thou  'It  come  back  soon  ?  " 

"  I  am  na  coming  back." 

"  Not  coming  back  ? "  She  laid  the  mutton-pie  down  on 
the  bench. 

"No— I  am  na  coming  back." 

"Never?" 

"Never." 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  had  not  altogether  under- 
stood. 

Nick  turned  away.  A  strange  uneasiness  had  come 
upon  him,  as  if  some  one  were  staring  at  him  fixedly. 
But  no  one  was.  There  was  a  Dutchman  in  the  gate  who 
had  not  been  there  just  before.  "He  must  have  sprung 
up  out  of  the  ground,"  thought  Nick,  "  or  else  he  is  a  very 
sudden  Dutchman ! "  He  had  on  breeches  like  two  great 
meal-sacks,  and  a  Flemish  sea-cloth  jacket  full  of  wrinkles, 
as  if  it  had  been  lying  in  a  chest.  His  back  was  turned, 
and  Nick  could  not  help  smiling,  for  the  fellow's  shanks 
came  out  of  his  breeches'  bottoms  like  the  legs  of  a  letter  A. 
He  looked  like  a  pudding  on  two  skewers. 

Cicely  slowly  took  up  the  mutton-pie  once  more,  but 
did  not  eat.  "  Is  na  the  pasty  good  ? "  asked  Nick. 

"  Not  now,"  said  she. 

Nick  turned  away  again. 

The  Dutchman  was  not  in  the  gate.  He  had  crossed 
the  inn-yard  suddenly,  and  was  sitting  close  within  the 
shadow  of  the  wall,  though  the  sunny  side  was  pleasauter 


262  MASTER  SKYLARK 

by  far.  His  wig  was  hanging  down  about  his  face,  and 
he  was  talking  with  the  tapster's  knave,  a  hungry-looking 
fellow  clad  in  rusty  black  as  if  some  one  were  dead,  al- 
though it  was  a  holiday  and  he  had  neither  kith  nor  kin. 
The  knave  was  biting  his  under  lip  and  staring  straight 
at  Nick. 

"  And  will  I  never  see  thee  more  ? "  asked  Cicely. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Nick ;  "  oh,  yes." 

But  he  did  not  know  whether  she  ever  would  or  no. 

"Gee-wup,  Dobbin!  Yoicks,  Ned!  Tschk— tschk ! » 
The  leading  cart  rolled  slowly  through  the  gate.  A  sec- 
ond followed  it.  The  drivers  made  a  cracking  with  their 
whips,  and  all  the  guests  came  out  to  see  them  off.  But 
the  Dutchman,  as  the  rest  came  out,  arose,  and  with  the 
tapster's  knave  went  in  at  a  narrow  entrance  beyond  the 
tap-room  steps. 

"And  when  will  Master  Shakspere  come  for  thee?" 
asked  Cicely  once  more,  the  cold  pie  lying  in  her  lap. 

"I  do  na  know.  How  can  I  tell?  Do  na  bother  me 
so !  "  cried  Nick,  and  dug  his  heels  into  the  cracks  between 
the  paving-stones;  for  after  all  that  had  come  to  pass 
the  starting  of  the  baggage-train  had  made  him  sick  for 
home. 

Cicely  looked  up  at  him ;  she  thought  she  had  not  heard 
aright.  He  was  staring  after  the  last  cart  as  it  rolled 
through  the  inn-yard  gate ;  his  throat  was  working,  and 
his  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Why,  Nick !  "  said  she,  "  art  crying  ? " 

"  Nay,"  said  he,  "  but  very  near,"  and  dashed  his  hand 


A  SUDDEN  RESOLVE  263 

across  his  face.  "Everything  doth  happen  so  all-at-once 
—and  I  am  na  big  enough,  Cicely.  Oh,  Cicely,  I  would  I 
were  a  mighty  king— I  'd  make  it  all  up  different  some- 
how ! " 

"  Perhaps  thou  wilt  be  some  day,  Nick,"  she  answered 
quietly.  "  Thou  'Idst  make  a  very  lovely  king.  I  could 
be  queen ;  and  daddy  should  be  Lord  Admiral,  and  own 
the  finest  play-house  in  the  town." 

But  Nick  was  staring  at  the  tap-room  door.  A  voice 
somewhere  had  startled  him.  The  guests  were  gone,  and 
none  was  left  but  the  tapster's  knave  leaning  against  the 
inner  wall. 

"Thy  mother  should  come  to  live  with  us,  and  thy 
father,  and  all  thy  kin," said  Cicely,  dreamily  smiling ;  "and 
the  people  would  love  us,  there  would  be  no  more  war,  and 
we  should  be  happy  forevermore." 

But  Nick  was  listening,— not  to  her,— and  his  face  was 
a  little  pale.  He  felt  a  strange,  uneasy  sense  of  some  one 
staring  at  his  back.  He  whirled  about— looked  in  at  the 
tap-room  window.  For  an  instant  a  peering  face  was 
there ;  then  it  was  gone— there  was  only  the  Dutchman's 
frowzy  wig  and  striped  woolen  cap.  But  the  voice  he  had 
heard  and  the  face  he  had  seen  were  the  voice  and  the 
face  of  Gregory  Goole. 

"  I  should  love  to  see  thy  mother,  Nick,"  said  Cicely. 

He  got  up  steadily,  though  his  heart  was  jolting  his 
very  ribs.  "  Thou  shalt  right  speedily !  "  said  he. 

The  carts  were  standing  in  a  line.  The  carrier  came 
down  the  steps  with  his  stirrup-cup  in  hand.  Nick's  heart 


264  MASTER  SKYLAEK 

gave  a  sudden,  wild,  resolute  leap,  and  he  touched  the 
carrier  on  the  arm.  "  What  will  ye  charge  to  carry  two 
as  far  as  Stratford  town  ? "  he  asked.  His  mouth  was  dry 
as  a  dusty  road,  for  the  Dutchman  had  risen  from  his  seat 
and  was  coming  toward  the  door. 

"  I  do  na  haul  past  Oxford,"  said  the  man. 

"  To  Oxford,  then— how  much  ?  Be  quick !  "  Nick 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast  where  he  carried  the  bur- 
gesses' chain. 

"Eightpence  the  day,  for  three  days  out— two  shilling 
't  is,  and  find  yourself ;  it  is  an  honest  fare." 

The  tapster's  knave  came  down  the  steps ;  the  Dutchman 
stood  within  the  shadow  of  the  door. 

"Wilt  carry  us  for  this?"  Nick  cried,  and  thrust  the 
chain  into  the  fellow's  hands. 

He  gasped  and  almost  let  it  fall.  "  Beshrew  my  heart ! 
Gadzooks ! "  said  he,  "  art  thou  a  prince  in  hiding,  boy  ? 
'T  would  buy  me,  horses,  wains,  and  all.  Why,  man  alive, 
't  is  but  a  nip  o'  this !  " 

"  Good,  then,"  said  Nick,  "  't  is  done— we  '11  go.  Come, 
Cicely,  we  're  going  home !  " 

Staring,  the  carrier  followed  him,  weighing  the  chain  in 
his  hairy  hand.  "Who  art  thou,  boy?"  he  cried  again. 
"  This  matter  hath  a  queer  look." 

"'T  was  honestly  come  by,  sir,"  cried  Nick,  no  longer 
able  to  conceal  a  quiver  in  his  voice,  "and  my  name  is 
Nicholas  Attwood ;  I  come  from  Stratford  town." 

"  Stratford-on-Avon  ?  Why,  art  kin  to  Tanner  Simon 
Attwood  there,  Attwood  of  Old  Town  ? " 


A  SUDDEN  RESOLVE  265 

"  He  is  my  father,  sir.  Oh,  leave  us  go  with  thee— take 
the  whole  chain !  " 

Slap  went  the  carrier's  cap  in  the  dirt!  "Leave  thee 
go  wi'  me  ?  Gadzooks ! "  he  cried,  "  my  name  be  John 
Saddler— why,  what?  my  daddy  liveth  in  Chapel  lane, 
behind  Will  Underbill's.  I  stole  thy  father's  apples  fifteen 
years.  What !  go  wi'  me  ?  Get  on  the  wain,  thou  little 
fool— get  on  all  the  wains  I  own,  and  a  plague  upon  thine 
eightpence,  lad !  Why,  here ;  Hal  telled  me  thou  wert 
dead,  or  lost,  or  some  such  fairy  tale !  Up  on  the  sheep- 
skin, both  o'  ye ! " 

The  Dutchman  came  from  the  tap-room  door  and  spoke 
to  the  tapster's  knave ;  but  the  words  which  he  spoke  to 
that  tapster's  knave  were  anything  but  Dutch. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

WAYFARING  HOME 

AT  Kensington  watering-place,  five  miles  from  Lon- 
Jl\.  don  town,  Nick  held  the  pail  for  the  horses  of  the 
Oxford  man.  "  Hello,  my  buck !  "  quoth  he,  and  stared 
at  Nick;  "where  under  the  sun  didst  pop  from  all  at 
once  ? "  and,  looking  up,  spied  Cicely  upon  the  carrier's 
wain.  "What,  John!"  he  shouted,  "thou  saidst  there 
were  no  more ! a 

"  No  more  there  were  n't,  sir,"  said  John,  "  but  there  be 
now  " ;  and  out  with  the  whole  story. 

"  Well,  I  ha'  farmed  for  fifty  year,"  cried  honest  Roger 
Clout,  "yet  never  have  I  seen  the  mate  to  yonder  little 
maid,  nor  heard  the  like  o'  such  a  tale !  Wife,  wife !  "  he 
cried,  in  a  voice  as  round  and  full  of  hearty  cheer  as  one 
who  calls  his  own  cattle  home  across  his  own  fat  fields. 
"  Come  hither,  Moll— here 's  company  for  thee.  For  sure, 
John,  they  '11  ride  wi'  Moll  and  I;  't  is  godsend— angels 
on  a  baggage-cart !  Moll  ha'  lost  her  only  one,  and  the 
little  maid  will  warm  the  cockles  o'  her  heart,  say  nought 
about  mine  own.  La,  now,  she  is  na  feared  o'  me ;  God 

266 


WAYFARING  HOME  267 

bless  thee,  child !  Look  at  her,  Moll— as  sweet  as  honey 
and  the  cream  o'  the  brindle  cow." 

So  they  rode  with  kindly  Roger  Clout  and  his  good  wife 
by  Hanwell,  Hillingdon  Hill,  and  Uxbridge,  where  they 
rested  at  the  inn  near  old  St.  Margaret's,  Cicely  with  Mis- 
tress Clout,  and  Nick  with  her  good  man.  And  in  the 
morning  there  was  nothing  to  pay,  for  Roger  Clout  had 
footed  all  the  score. 

Then  on  again,  through  Beaconsfleld  and  High  Wy- 
combe,  into  and  over  the  Chiltern  Hills  in  Buckingham- 
shire. In  parts  the  land  was  passing  fair,  with  sheep  in 
flocks  upon  the  hills,  and  cattle  knee-deep  in  the  grass; 
but  otherwhere  the  way  was  wild,  with  bogs  and  moss  in 
all  the  deeps,  and  dense  beech  forests  on  the  heights ;  and 
more  than  once  the  guards  made  ready  their  match-locks 
warily.  But  stout  John  Saddler's  train  was  no  soft  cakes 
for  thieves,  and  they  came  up  through  Bucks  scot-free. 

At  times  it  drizzled  fitfully,  and  the  road  was  rough  and 
bad ;  but  the  third  day  was  a  fair,  sweet  day,  and  most 
exceeding  bright  and  fresh.  The  shepherds  whistled  on 
the  hills,  and  the  milkmaids  sang  in  the  winding  lanes 
among  the  white-thorn  hedges,  the  smell  of  which  was 
everywhere.  The  singing,  the  merry  voices  calling,  the 
comfortable  lowing  of  the  kine,  the  bleating  of  the  sheep, 
the  clinking  of  the  bridle-chains,  and  the  heavy  ruttle  of 
the  carts  filled  the  air  with  life  and  cheer.  The  wind  was 
blowing  both  warm  and  cool ;  and,  oh,  the  blithe  breeze  of 
the  English  springtime !  Nick  went  up  the  green  hill* 
and  down  the  white  dells  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind,  now 


268  MASTER  SKYLARK 

ahead  and  now  behind  the  winding  train,  or  off  into  the 
woods  and  over  the  fields  for  a  posy-bunch  for  Cicely, 
calling  and  laughing  back  at  her,  and  filling  her  lap  with 
flowers  and  ferns  until  the  cart  was  all  one  great,  sweet- 
smelling  bower. 

As  for  Cicely,  Nick  was  there,  so  she  was  very  well  con- 
tent. She  had  never  gone  a- visiting  in  all  her  life  before ; 
and  she  would  see  Nick's  mother,  and  the  flowers  in  the 
yard,  the  well,  and  that  wondrous  stream,  the  Avon,  of 
which  Nick  talked  so  much.  "  Stratford  is  a  fair,  fair 
town,  though  very  full  of  fools,"  her  father  often  said. 
But  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  fools,  and  daddy  would 
come  for  her  again ;  so  her  laughter  bubbled  like  a  little 
spring  throughout  the  livelong  day. 

As  the  sun  went  down  in  the  yellow  west  they  came  into 
Oxford  from  the  south  on  the  easterly  side.  The  Cher- 
well  burned  with  the  orange  light  reflected  from  the  sky, 
and  the  towers  of  the  famous  town  of  olden  schools  and 
scholars  stood  up  black-purple  against  the  western  glow, 
with  rims  of  gold  on  every  roof  and  spire. 

Up  the  High  street  into  the  corn-market  rolled  the  tired 
train,  and  turned  into  the  rambling  square  of  the  old 
Crown  Inn  near  Carfax  church,  a  large,  substantial  hos- 
telry, one  of  merry  England's  best,  clean-chambered, 
homelike,  full  of  honest  cheer. 

There  was  a  shout  of  greeting  everywhere.  The  hostlers 
ran  to  walk  the  horses  till  they  cooled,  and  to  rub  them 
down  before  they  fed,  for  they  were  all  afoam.  Master 
Davenant  himself  saw  to  the  storing  of  the  wains;  and 


WAYFARING  HOME  269 

Mistress  Davenant,  a  comely  dame,  with  smooth  brown 
hair  and  ruddy  cheeks,  and  no  less  wit  than  sprightly 
grace,  was  in  the  porch  to  meet  the  company.  "Well, 
good  Dame  Clout,"  said  she,  "art  home  again T  What 
tales  we  '11  have !  Didst  see  Tom  Lane  ?  No  ?  Pshaw ! 
But  buss  me,  Moll  j  we  've  missed  thy  butter  parlously." 
And  then  quite  free  she  kissed  both  Nick  and  Cicely. 

"  What,  there,  Dame  Davenant ! "  cried  Roger  Clout, 
"art  passing  them  around?"  and  laughed,  "Do  na  forget 
me." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  'm  out.  Here,  Nan," 
she  called  to  the  smutty-faced  scullery-maid,  "  a  buss  for 
Master  Clout;  his  own  Moll's  busses  be  na  fine  enough 
since  he  hath  been  to  town." 

So,  joking,  laughing,  they  went  in ;  while  plain  John 
Saddler  backed  out  of  the  porch  as  sooty  Nan  came  run- 
ning up,  for  fear  the  jilt  might  offer  somewhat  of  the  sort 
to  him,  and  was  off  in  haste  to  see  to  his  teams.  "  There 's 
no  leaving  it  to  the  boys,"  said  he,  "  for  they  'd  rub  'em 
down  wi'  a  water-pail,  and  give  'em  straw  to  drink." 

When  the  guests  all  came  to  the  fourpenny  table  to  sup, 
Nick  spoke  to  Master  Roger  Clout.  "  Ye  've  done  enough 
for  us,  sir ;  thank  ye  with  all  my  heart ;  but  I  Ve  a  turn 
will  serve  us  here,  and,  sir,  I  'd  rather  stand  on  mine  own 
legs.  Ye  will  na  mind  ? "  And  when  they  all  were  seated 
at  the  board,  he  rose  up  stoutly  at  the  end,  and  called  out 
brave  and  clear:  "Sirs,  and  good  dames  all,  will  ye  be 
pleased  to  have  some  music  while  ye  eat  ?  For,  if  ye  will, 
the  little  maid  and  I  will  sing  you  the  latest  song  from 


270  MASTER  SKYLARK 

London  town,  a  merry  thing,  with  a  fine  trolly-lolly,  sire, 
to  glad  your  hearts  with  hearing  " 

"Would  they  have  music?  To  be  sure!  Who  would 
not  music  while  he  ate  must  be  a  Flemish  dunderkopf, 
said  they.  So  Nick  and  Cicely  stood  at  one  side  of  the 
room  upon  a  bench  by  the  server's  board,  and  sang  to- 
gether, while  he  played  upon  Mistress  Davenant's  gittern : 

"  Hey,  laddie,  hark  to  the  merry,  merry  lark  f 

How  high  he  singeth  clear : 
'Oh,  a  morn  in  spring  is  the  sweetest  thing 

That  eometh  in  all  the  year ! 
Oh,  a  morn  in  spring  is  the  sweetest  thing 

That  eometh  in  all  the  year ! ' 

"Ring,  ting !  it  is  the  merry  springtime ; 

How  full  of  heart  a  body  feels ! 
Sing  hey,  trolly-lolly !  oh,  to  live  is  to  be  jolly, 
When  springtime  eometh  with  the  summer  at  her  heels ! 

"  God  save  us  all,  my  jolly  gentlemen, 

We  '11  merry  be  to-day ; 
For  the  cuckoo  sings  till  the  greenwood  rings, 

And  it  is  the  month  of  May ! 
For  the  cuckoo  sings  till  the  greenwood  rings, 

And  it  is  the  month  of  May ! " 

Then  the  men  at  the  table  all  waved  their  pewter  pots, 
and  thumped  upon  the  board,  roaring, ''  Hey,  trolly-lolly ! 
oh,  to  live  is  to  be  jolly !  "  until  the  rafters  rang. 

"  What,  lad !  "  cried  good  Dame  Davenant,  "  come,  stay 
with  me  all  year  and  sing,  thou  and  this  little  maid  o' 
thine.  T  will  cost  thee  neither  cash  nor  care.  Why,  thou 


L  Hnl  Ud-die,  h»rk,  to  tU 
«.  Cod  tm  u  til,     nf 


^ng^   |EJ          IJ  Ij     J|J  tj  jj     flrt«l|»^i    |J      1         I 


Urk,      How  high  he  ling^th  ctetr.  O     •    non  la  Spring  ii    the  iweeottr* 

.men!      We'll  merry  b*      la-  day  |  Fot  th«  cmc.koo  sin  j»  till  the  [rem  wood 


3«E.£ 


-tir-«    !•      «  |^          B    | j    «    | 

*        ^        3  §^ 


i^  •^g=ji.  ,r  ir  •  r  T    r   f  '     *  '*    "  ' 


thine  Thu  cooieth    in    «11      the  yeaV^.          O      •    mom    la  Spring  it      the  mtt-eu  thing  That 
rings.  And   it      U    the  month  of  M«yi  For  the  «e  -  kvo  uag<  till    the  greenwood  nnji.Ani 

TjLbfc  J     IB    'JIJ    J         \*     y  1«     j          I*      j=fr 


3^"    '3 


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Ml  oT^kewt    .     bod  .   y      fcebl        Sl.(   key      trol  .  ly 


II    /"jl    /"   i 


272  MASTER  SKYLARK 

'Idst  fill  the  house  with  such  a  throng  as  it  hath  never 
seen  !  "  And  in  the  morning  she  would  not  take  a  penny 
for  their  lodging  nor  their  keep.  "  Nay,  nay,"  said  she ; 
"  they  ha'  brought  good  custom  to  the  house,  and  left  me 
a  brave  little  tale  to  tell  for  many  a  good  long  year.  We 
inns-folk  be  not  common  penny-grabbers ;  marry,  no !  " 
and,  furthermore,  she  made  interest  with  a  carrier  to  give 
them  a  lift  to  Woodstock  on  their  way. 

When  they  came  to  Woodstock  the  carrier  set  them 
down  by  the  gates  of  a  park  built  round  by  a  high  stone 
wall  over  which  they  could  not  see,  and  with  his  wain 
went  in  at  the  gate,  leaving  them  to  journey  on  together 
through  a  little  rain-shower. 

The  land  grew  flatter  than  before.  There  were  few 
crees  upon  the  hills,  and  scarcely  any  springs  at  which  to 
drink,  but  much  tender  grass,  with  countless  sheep  nib- 
bling everywhere.  The  shower  was  soon  blown  away; 
the  sun  came  out ;  and  a  pleasant  wind  sprang  up  out  of 
the  south.  Here  and  there  beside  some  cottage  wall  the 
lilacs  bloomed,  and  the  later  orchard-trees  were  apple-pink 
and  cherry-white  with  May. 

They  came  to  a  puddle  in  the  road  where  there  was  a 
dance  of  butterflies.  Cicely  clapped  her  hands  with  glee. 
A  goldfinch  dipped  across  the  path  like  a  little  yellow 
streak  of  laughter  in  the  sun.  "Oh,  Nick,  what  is  it?" 
she  cried. 

"  A  bird,"  said  he. 

"  A  truly  bird  ? "  and  she  clasped  her  hands.  "  WJl  it 
ever  come  again?" 


"'OH,    NICK,    WHIT    IB    IT?'    HUE    CKIKD." 


vVAYFARING  HOME  273 

"  Again  ?  Oh,  yes,  or,  la !  another  one— there  's  plenty 
in  the  weeds." 

And  so  they  fared  all  afternoon,  until  at  dusk  they 
came  to  Chipping  Norton  across  the  fields,  a  short  cut  to 
where  the  thin  blue  supper-smoke  curled  up.  The  mists 
were  rising  from  the  meadows ;  earth  and  sky  were  blend- 
ing on  the  hills ;  a  little  silver  sickle  moon  hung  in  the 
fading  violet,  low  in  the  western  sky.  Under  an  old  oak 
in  a  green  place  a  fiddler  and  a  piper  were  playing,  and 
youths  and  maidens  were  dancing  in  the  brown  light. 
Some  little  chaps  were  playing  blindman's-buff  near  by, 
and  the  older  folk  were  gathered  by  the  tree. 

Nick  came  straight  to  where  they  stood,  and  bowing, 
he  and  Cicely  together,  doffed  his  cap,  and  said  in  his  most 
London  tone,  "  We  bid  ye  all  good-e'en,  good  folk." 

His  courtly  speech  and  manner,  as  well  as  his  clothes 
and  Cicely's  jaunty  gown,  no  little  daunted  the  simple 
country  folk.  Nobody  spoke,  but,  standing  silent,  all 
stared  at  the  two  quaint  little  vagabonds  as  mild  kine  stare 
at  passing  sheep  in  a  quiet  lane. 

"  We  need  somewhat  to  eat  this  night,  and  we  want  a 
place  to  sleep,"  said  Nick.  "  The  beds  must  be  right  clean 
—we  have  good  appetites.  If  ye  can  do  for  us,  we  will 
dance  for  you  anything  that  ye  may  desire— the  '  Queen's 
Own  Measure,'  'La  Donzella,'  the  new 'Allemand'  of  my 
Lord  Pembroke,  a  pavone  or  a  tinternell,  or  the  'Gall- 
iard  of  Savoy.'  Which  doth  it  please  you,  mistresses  t " 
and  he  bowed  to  the  huddling  young  women,  who  scarcely 
knew  what  to  make  of  it 

18 


274  MASTER  SKYLARK 

"  La !  Joan,"  whispered  one,  "  he  calleth  thee  '  mistress  'I 
Speak  up,  wench."  But  Joan  stoutly  held  her  peace. 

"Or  if  ye  will,  the  little  maid  will  dance  the  coranto 
for  you,  straight  from  my  Lord  Chancellor's  dancing- 
master  ;  and  while  she  dances  I  will  sing." 

"Why,  hark  'e,  Rob,"  spoke  out  one  motherly  dame, 
"they  two  do  look  clean-like.  Children,  too— who  'd  gi' 
them  stones  when  they  beg  for  bread  ?  I  '11  do  for  them 
this  night  myself ;  and  thou,  the  good  man,  and  Kit  can 
sleep  in  the  hutch.  So  there,  dears ;  now  let  's  see  the 
Lord  Chancellor's  tantrums." 

"  'T  is  not  a  tantrums,  goody,"  said  Nick,  politely,  "  but 
a  coranto." 

"  La !  young  master,  what 's  the  odds,  just  so  we  sees  it 
done?  Some  folks  calls  whittles  'knives,'  and  thinks  't 
wunnot  cut  theys  fingers  !  " 

Nick  took  his  place  at  the  side  of  the  ring.  "Now, 
Cicely !  "  said  he. 

"Thou  'It  call  <Sa— sa!'  and  give  me  the  time  of  the 
coup  d'archet?"  she  whispered,  timidly  hesitant,  as  she 
stepped  to  the  midst  of  the  ring. 

"  Ay,  then,"  said  he,  "  't  is  off,  't  is  off !  "  and  struck  up 
a  lively  tune,  snapping  his  fingers  for  the  time. 

Cicely,  bowing  all  about  her,  slowly  began  to  dance. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see:  her  big  eyes  wide  and 
earnest,  her  cheeks  a  little  flushed,  her  short  hair  curling, 
and  her  crimson  gown  fluttering  about  her  as  she  danced 
the  quaint  running  step  forward  and  back  across  the  grass, 
balancing  archly,  with  her  hands  upon  her  hips  and  a  little 


WAYFARING  HOME  275 

smile  upon  her  lips,  in  the  swaying  motion  of  the  coupee, 
eourtesying  gracefully  as  one  tiny  slippered  foot  peeped 
out  from  her  rustling  skirt,  tapping  on  the  turf,  now  in 
front  and  now  behind.  Nick  sang  like  a  blackbird  in  the 
hedge.  And  how  those  country  lads  and  lasses  stared  to 
see  such  winsome,  dainty  grace !  "  La  me ! "  gaped  one, 
"'t  is  fairy  folk— she  doth  na  even  touch  the  ground! " 
"  The  pretty  dear ! "  the  mothers  said.  "  Doll,  why  canst 
thou  na  do  the  like,  thou  lummox  ? "  "  Tut,"  sighed  the 
buxom  Doll,  "  I  have  na  wingses  on  my  feet ! " 

Then  Cicely,  breathless,  bowed,  and  ran  to  Nick's  side 
asking,  "Was  it  all  right,  Nick?" 

"Eight!"  said  he,  and  stroked  her  hair;  "'t  was  better 
than  thou  didst  ever  dance  it  for  M'sieu." 

"  For  why  ? "  said  she,  and  flushed,  with  a  quick  light 
in  her  eyes ;  "  for  why —because  this  time  I  danced  for 
thee." 

The  country  folk,  enchanted,  called  for  more  and  more. 

Nick  sang  another  song,  and  he  and  Cicely  danced  the 
galliard  together,  while  the  piper  piped  and  the  fiddler 
fiddled  away  like  mad ;  and  the  moon  went  down,  and  the 
cottage  doors  grew  ruddy  with  the  light  inside.  Then 
Dame  Pettiford  gave  them  milk  and  oat-cakes  in  a  bowl, 
a  bit  of  honey  in  the  comb,  and  a  cup  of  strawberries ;  and 
Cicely  fell  fast  asleep  with  the  last  of  the  strawberries  in 
her  hand. 

So  they  came  up  out  of  the  south  through  Shipston-on- 
Stour,  in  the  main-traveled  way,  and  with  every  mile  Nick 
felt  home  growing  nearer.  Streams  sprang  up  in  the 


276  MASTER  SKYLARK 

meadow-lands,  with  sedgy  islands,  and  lines  of  silvery 
willows  bordering  their  banks.  Flocks  and  herds  cropped 
beneath  tofts  of  ash  and  elm  and  beech.  Snug  homes 
peeped  out  of  hazel  copses  by  the  road.  The  passing  carts 
had  a  familiar  look,  and  at  Alderminster  Nick  saw  a  man 
he  thought  he  recognized. 

Before  he  knew  that  he  was  there  they  topped  Edge 
Hill. 

There  lay  Stratford !  as  he  had  left  it  lying ;  not  one 
stick  or  stack  or  stone  but  he  could  put  his  finger  on  and 
say,  "  This  place  I  know !  "  Green  pastures,  grassy  levels, 
streams,  groves,  mills,  the  old  grange  and  the  manor-house, 
the  road  that  forked  in  three,  and  the  hills  of  Arden  beyond 
it  all.  There  was  the  tower  of  the  guildhall  chapel  above 
the  clustering,  dun-thatched  roofs  among  the  green  and 
blossom- white ;  to  left  the  spire  of  Holy  Trinity  sprang  up 
beside  the  shining  Avon.  Bull  Lane  he  made  out  dimly, 
and  a  red-tiled  roof  among  the  trees.  "  There,  Cicely,"  he 
said,  "  there— there !"  and  laughed  a  queer  little  shaky 
laugh  next  door  to  crying  for  joy. 

Wat  Raven  was  sweeping  old  Clopton  bridge.  "  Hullo, 
there,  Wat !  I  be  come  home  again ! "  Nick  cried.  Wat 
stared  at  him,  but  knew  him  not  at  all. 

Around  the  corner,  and  down  High  street.  Fynes  Mor- 
rison burst  in  at  the  guildschool  door.  "  Nick  Attwood  ?s 
home ! "  he  shouted ;  and  his  eyes  were  like  two  plates. 

Then  the  last  lane— and  the  smoke  from  his  father's 
house ! 

The  garden  gate  stood  open,  and  there  was  some  one 


WAYFARING  HOME  277 

working  in  the  yard.  "  It  is  my  father,  Cicely, "  he  laughed. 
"  Father !  "  he  cried,  and  hurried  in  the  lane. 

Simon  Attwood  straightened  up  and  looked  across  the 
fence.  His  arms  were  held  a  little  out,  and  his  hands 
hung  down  with  bits  of  moist  earth  clinging  to  them. 
His  brows  were  darker  than  a  year  before,  and  his  hair 
was  grown  more  gray ;  his  back,  too,  stooped.  "  Art  thou 
a-calling  me  ? "  he  asked. 

Nick  laughed.  "  Why,  father,  do  ye  na  know  me  ?  "  he 
cried  out.  "  'T  is  I— 't  is  Nick— come  home ! " 

Two  steps  the  stern  old  tanner  took— two  steps  to  the 
latchet-gate.  Not  one  word  did  he  speak ;  but  he  set  hi» 
hand  to  the  latchet-gate  and  closed  it  in  Nick's  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXVH 

TURNED  ADRIFT 

DOWN  the  path  and  under  the  gate  the  rains  had 
washed  a  shallow  rut  in  the  earth.  Two  pebbles, 
loosened  by  the  closing  of  the  gate,  rolled  down  the  rut 
and  out  upon  the  little  spreading  fan  of  sand  that  whitened 
in  the  grass. 

There  was  the  house  with  the  black  beams  checkering 
its  yellow  walls.  There  was  the  old  bench  by  the  door, 
and  the  lettuce  in  the  garden-bed.  There  were  the  bee- 
hives, and  the  bees  humming  among  the  orchard  boughs. 

"  Why,  father,  what ! "  cried  Nick,  "  dost  na  know  me 
yet  ?  See,  't  is  I,  Nick,  thy  son." 

A  strange  look  came  into  the  tanner's  face.  "  I  do  na 
know  thee,  boy,"  he  answered  heavily;  "thou  canst  na 
enter  here." 

"  But,  father,  indeed  t  is  I !  " 

Simon  Attwood  looked  across  the  town ;  yet  he  did  not 
see  the  town :  across  the  town  into  the  sky ;  yet  he  did 
not  see  the  sky,  nor  the  drifting  banks  of  cloud,  nor  the 
sunlight  shining  on  the  clouds.  "  I  say  I  do  na  know 

278 


TURNED  ADRIFT  279 

thee,"  he  replied;  "be  off  to  the  place  whence  ye  ha' 
come." 

Nick's  hand  was  almost  on  the  latch.  He  stopped.  He 
looked  up  into  his  father's  face.  "  Why,  father,  I  Ve  come 
home !  "  he  gasped. 

The  gate  shook  in  the  tanner's  grip.  "  Have  I  na  telled 
thee  twice  I  do  na  know  thee,  boy?  No  house  o'  mine 
shall  e'er  be  home  for  thee.  Thou  hast  no  part  nor  parcel 
here.  Get  thee  out  o'  my  sight." 

"Oh,  father,  father,  what  do  ye  meant"  cried  Nick,  his 
lips  scarcely  able  to  shape  the  words. 

"  Do  na  ye  '  father '  me  no  more,"  said  Simon  Attwood, 
bitterly;  "I  be  na  father  to  stage-playing,  vagabond 
rogues.  And  be  gone,  I  say.  Dost  hear?  Must  I  e'en 
thrust  thee  forth?"  He  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  strike. 

Nick  fell  away  from  the  latchet-gate,  dumb-stricken  with 
amazement,  shame,  and  grief. 

"Oh,  Nick,"  cried  Cicely,  "come  away— the  wicked, 
wicked  man ! " 

"  It  is  my  father,  Cicely." 

She  stared  at  him.  "  And  thou  dost  hate  my  father  so  ? 
Oh,  Nick!  oh,  Nick!" 

"Will  ye  be  gone?"  called  Simon  Attwood,  half-way 
opening  the  gate ;  "  must  I  set  constables  on  thee  ? " 

Nick  did  not  move.  A  numbness  had  crept  over  him 
like  palsy.  Cicely  caught  him  by  the  hand.  "  Come,  let 
us  go  back  to  my  father,"  she  said.  "  He  will  not  turn  TO 
out." 

Scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he  followed  her.  stum- 


280  MASTER  SKYLARK 

bling  in  the  level  path  as  though  he  were  half  blind  or  had 
been  beaten  upon  the  head.  He  did  not  cry.  This  was 
past  all  crying.  He  let  himself  be  led  along— it  made  no 
matter  where. 

In  Chapel  lane  there  was  a  crowd  along  the  Great  House 
wall ;  and  on  the  wall  Ned  Cooke  and  Martin  Addenbroke 
were  sitting.  There  were  heads  of  people  moving  on  the 
porch  and  in  the  court,  and  the  yard  was  all  a-bustle  and 
to-do.  But  there  was  nobody  in  the  street,  and  no  one 
looked  at  Nick  and  Cicely. 

The  Great  House  did  look  very  fair  in  the  sun  of  that 
May  day,  with  its  homely  gables  of  warm  red  brick  and 
sunburnt  timber,  its  cheery  roof  of  Holland  tile,  and  with 
the  sunlight  flashing  from  the  diamond  panes  that  were 
leaded  into  the  sashes  of  the  great  bay-window  on  the 
eastern  garden  side. 

In  the  garden  all  was  stir-about  and  merry  voices. 
There  was  a  little  green  court  before  the  house,  and  a 
pleasant  lawn  coming  down  to  the  lane  from  the  doorway 
porch.  The  house  stood  to  the  left  of  the  entry-drive,  and 
the  barn-yard  to  the  right  was  loud  with  the  blithe  crowing 
of  the  cocks.  But  the  high  brick  wall  shut  out  the  street 
where  Nick  and  Cicely  trudged  dolefully  along,  and  to  Nick 
the  lane  seemed  very  full  of  broken  crockery  and  dirt,  and 
the  sunlight  all  a  mockery.  The  whole  of  the  year  had  not 
yet  been  so  dark  as  this,  for  there  had  ever  been  the  dream 
of  coming  home.  But  now — he  suffered  himself  to  be  led 
along ;  that  was  enough. 

They  had  come  past  the  Great  House  up  from  Chapel 


TUENED  ADRIFT  281 

street,  when  a  girl  came  out  of  the  western  gate,  and  with 
her  hand  above  her  eyes  looked  after  them.  She  seemed 
in  doubt,  but  looked  again,  quite  searchingly.  Then,  as 
one  who  is  not  sure,  but  does  not  wish  to  miss  a  chance, 
called  out,  "  Nick  Attwood !  Nick  Attwood ! » 

Cicely  looked  back  to  see  who  called.  She  did  not  know 
the  girl,  but  saw  her  beckon.  "  There  is  some  one  calling, 
Nick,"  said  she. 

Nick  stopped  in  a  hopeless  sort  of  way,  and  looked  back 
down  the  street. 

When  he  had  turned  so  that  the  girl  at  the  gate  could 
see  his  face,  she  left  the  gate  wide  open  behind  her,  and 
came  running  quickly  up  the  street  after  them.  As  she 
drew  nearer  he  saw  that  it  was  Susanna  Shakspere,  though 
she  was  very  much  grown  since  he  had  seen  her  last.  He 
watched  her  running  after  them  as  if  it  were  none  of  his 
affair.  But  when  she  had  caught  up  with  them,  she  took 
him  by  the  shoulder  smartly  and  drew  him  back  toward 
the  gate.  "  Why,  Nicholas  Attwood,"  she  cried,  all  out  of 
breath,  "  come  straightway  into  the  house  with  me.  My 
father  hath  been  hunting  after  thee  the  whole  way  up  from 
London  town ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

A   STRANGE  DAY 

THERE  in  the  Great  House  garden  under  the  mul- 
berry-trees  stood  Master  Will  Shakspere,  with 
Masters  Jonson,  Burbage,  Hemynge,  Condell,  and  a 
goodly  number  more,  who  had  just  come  up  from  London 
town,  as  well  as  Alderman  Henry  Walker  of  Stratford, 
good  old  John  Combe  of  the  college,  and  Michael  Dray- 
ton,  the  poet  of  Warwick.  For  Master  Shakspere  had 
that  morning  bought  the  Great  House,  with  its  gardens 
and  barns,  of  Master  William  Underbill,  for  sixty  pounds 
sterling,  and  was  making  a  great  feast  for  all  his  friends 
to  celebrate  the  day. 

The  London  players  all  clapped  their  hands  as  Nick  and 
Cicely  came  up  the  garden-path,  and,  "Upon  my  word, 
Will,"  declared  Master  Jonson,  "the  lad  is  a  credit  to  this 
old  town  of  thine.  A  plucky  fellow,  I  say,  a  right  plucky 
fellow.  Found  the  lass  and  brought  her  home  all  safe 
and  sound— why,  't  is  done  like  a  true  knight-errant !  " 

Master  Shakspere  met  them  with  outstretched  hands. 
"Thou  young  rogue,"  said  he,  smiling,  "how  thou  hast 

282 


"ilASTEU  SllAKSl'EUK   MKT   TIIKM  WITH   OOTBTUtlOBBO 


A  STRANGE  DAT  283 

forestalled  us !  Why,  here  we  have  been  weeping  for  thee 
as  lost,  strayed,  or  stolen ;  and  all  the  while  thou  wert 
nestling  in  the  bosom  of  thine  own  sweet  home.  How  is 
the  beloved  little  mother  ? " 

"I  ha'  na  seen  my  mother,"  faltered  Nick.  "Father 
will  na  let  me  in." 

"What?    How?" 

"My  father  will  na  have  me  any  more,  sir— saith  I 
shall  never  be  his  son  again.  Oh,  Master  Shakspere,  why 
did  they  steal  me  from  home  ? " 

They  were  all  crowding  about  now,  and  Master  Shak- 
spere had  hold  of  the  boy.  "  Why,  what  does  this  mean  ? " 
he  asked.  "  What  on  earth  has  happened  ? " 

Between  the  two  children,  in  broken  words,  the  story 
came  out. 

"  Why,  this  is  a  sorry  tale ! "  said  Master  Shakspere. 
"  Does  the  man  not  know  that  thou  wert  stolen,  that  thou 
wert  kept  against  thy  will,  that  thou  hast  trudged  half- 
way from  London  for  thy  mother's  sake  ? " 

"  He  will  na  leave  me  tell  him,  sir.  He  would  na  even 
listen  to  me !  " 

"  The  muckle  shrew !  "  quoth  Master  Jonson.  "  Why, 
1 11  have  this  out  with  him !  By  Jupiter,  I  '11  read  him 
reason  with  a  vengeance !  "  With  a  clink  of  his  rapier  he 
made  as  if  to  be  off  at  once. 

"  Nay,  Ben,"  said  Master  Shakspere ;  "  cool  thy  blood— 
a  quarrel  will  not  serve.  This  tanner  is  a  bitter-minded, 
heavy-handed  man— he  'd  only  throw  thee  in  a  pickling- 
vat" 


284  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

"  What  ?    Then  he  'd  never  tan  another  hide ! " 

"And  would  that  serve  the  purpose,  Ben?  The  cure 
should  better  the  disease — the  children  must  be  thought 
about." 

"  The  children  ?  Why,  as  for  them,"  said  Master  Jon- 
son,  in  his  blunt,  outspoken  way,  "I  '11  think  thee  a 
thought  offhand  to  serve  the  turn.  What?  Why,  this 
tanner  calls  us  vagabonds.  Vagabonds,  forsooth !  Yet 
vagabonds  are  gallows-birds,  and  gallows-birds  are  ravens. 
And  ravens,  men  say,  do  foster  forlorn  children.  Take 
my  point  ?  Good,  then ;  let  us  ravenous  vagabonds  take 
these  two  children  for  our  own,  Will,— thou  one,  1 t'  other, 
—and  by  praiseworthy  fostering  singe  this  fellow's  very 
brain  with  shame." 

"  Why,  here,  here,  Ben  Jonson,"  spoke  up  Master  Bur- 
bage,  "  this  is  all  very  well  for  Will  and  thee ;  but,  pray, 
where  do  Hemynge,  Condell,  and  I  come  in  upon  the  bill  ? 
Come,  man,  't  is  a  pity  if  we  cannot  all  stand  together  in 
this  real  play  as  well  as  in  all  the  make-believe." 

"  That  's  my  sort !  "  cried  Master  Hemynge.  "  Why, 
what?  Here  is  a  player's  daughter  who  has  no  father, 
and  a  player  whose  father  will  not  have  him,— orphaned 
by  fate,  and  disinherited  by  folly,— common  stock  with  us 
all !  Marry,  't  is  a  sort  of  stock  I  want  some  of.  Kind 
hearts  are  trumps,  my  honest  Ben— make  it  a  stock  com- 
pany, and  let  us  all  be  in." 

"  That 's  no  bad  fancy,"  added  Condell,  slowly,  for  Henry 
Condell  was  a  cold,  shrewd  man.  "  There  7s  merit  in  the 
lad  beside  his  voice — that  cannot  keep  its  freshness 


A  STRANGE  DAY  285 

but  his  figure  's  good,  his  wit  is  quick,  and  he  has  a  very- 
taking  style.  It  would  be  worth  while,  Dick.  And,  Will," 
said  he,  turning  to  Master  Shakspere,  who  listened  with 
half  a  smile  to  all  that  the  others  said,  "  he  11  make  a 
better  Rosalind  than  Roger  Prynne  for  thy  new  play." 

"So  he  would,"  said  Master  Shakspere;  "but  before 
we  put  him  into  '  As  You  Like  It,'  suppose  we  ask  him 
how  he  does  like  itf  Nick,  thou  hast  heard  what  all 
these  gentlemen  have  said— what  hast  thou  to  say,  my 
lad?" 

"  Why,  sirs,  ye  are  all  kind,"  said  Nick,  his  voice  begin- 
ning to  tremble,  "very,  very  kind  indeed,  sirs;  but— I— I 
want  my  mother — oh,  masters,  I  do  want  my  mother !  * 

At  that  John  Combe  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  out 
of  the  gate.  Out  of  the  garden-gate  walked  he,  and  down 
the  dirty  lane,  setting  his  cane  down  stoutly  as  he  went,  past 
gravel-pits  and  pens  to  Southam's  lane,  and  in  at  the  door 
of  Simon  Attwood's  tannery. 

IT  was  noon  when  he  went  in ;  yet  the  hour  struck, 
and  no  one  came  or  went  from  the  tannery.  Mistress 
Attwood's  dinner  grew  cold  upon  the  board,  and  Dame 
Combe  looked  vainly  across  the  fields  toward  the  town. 

But  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  John  Combe  came 
out  of  the  tannery  door,  and  Simon  Attwood  came  behind 
him.  And  as  John  Combe  came  down  the  cobbled  way,  a 
trail  of  brown  vat-liquor  followed  him,  dripping  from  his 
clothes,  for  he  was  soaked  to  the  skin.  His  long  gray  hair 
had  partly  dried  in  strings  about  his  ears,  and  his  fine  laoe 


286  MASTER  SKYLARK 

collar  was  a  drabbled  shame;  but  there  was  a  singular 
untroubled  smile  upon  his  plain  old  face. 

Simon  Attwood  stayed  to  lock  the  door,  fumbling  his 
keys  as  if  his  sight  had  failed ;  but  when  the  heavy  bolt 
was  shut,  he  turned  and  called  after  John  Combe,  so  that 
the  old  man  stopped  in  the  way  and  dripped  a  puddle  until 
the  tanner  came  up  to  where  he  stood.  And  as  he  came 
up  Attwood  asked,  in  such  a  tone  as  none  had  ever  heard 
from  his  mouth  before,  "Combe,  John  Combe,  what  'a 
done  's  done,— and  oh,  John,  the  pity  of  it,— yet  will  ye 
still  shake  hands  wi'  me,  John,  afore  ye  go  ? " 

John  Combe  took  Simon  Attwood's  bony  hand  and 
wrung  it  hard  in  his  stout  old  grip,  and  looked  the  tanner 
squarely  in  the  eyes ;  then,  still  smiling  serenely  to  him- 
self, and  setting  his  cane  down  stoutly  as  he  walked, 
dripped  home,  and  got  himself  into  dry  clothes  without  a 
word. 

But  Simon  Attwood  went  down  to  the  river,  and  sat 
upon  a  flat  stone  under  some  pollard  willows,  and  looked 
into  the  water. 

What  his  thoughts  were  no  one  knew,  nor  ever  shall 
know;  but  he  was  fighting  with  himself,  and  more  than 
once  groaned  bitterly.  At  first  he  only  shut  his  teeth  and 
held  his  temples  in  his  hands ;  but  after  a  while  he  began 
to  cry  to  himself,  over  and  over  again,  "  O  Absalom,  my 
son,  my  son !  O  my  son  Absalom ! "  and  then  only  "  My 
son,  my  son ! "  And  when  the  day  began  to  wane  above 
the  woods  of  Arden,  he  arose,  and  came  up  from  the  river, 
walking  swiftly ;  and,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 


A  STRANGE  DAY  287 

the  left,  came  up  to  the  Great  House  garden,  and  went  in 
at  the  gate. 

At  the  door  the  servant  met  him,  but  saw  his  face,  and 
let  him  pass  without  a  word ;  for  he  looked  like  a  desperate 
man  whom  there  was  no  stopping. 

So,  with  a  grim  light  burning  in  his  eyes,  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  his  clothes  all  drabbled  with  the  liquor  from 
his  vats,  the  tanner  strode  into  the  dining-halL 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

ALL  'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL 

table  had  been  cleared  of  trenchers  and  napkins, 
_t_  the  crumbs  brushed  away,  and  a  clean  platter  set 
before  each  guest  with  pared  cheese,  fresh  cherries,  biscuit, 
caraways,  and  wine. 

There  were  about  the  long  table,  beside  Master  Shak- 
spere  himself,  who  sat  at  the  head  of  the  board,  Masters 
Richard  and  Cuthbert  Burbage,  Henry  Condell,  and  Peter 
Hemynge,  Master  Shakspere's  partners ;  Master  Ben  Jon- 
son,  his  dearest  friend;  Thomas  Pope,  who  played  his 
finest  parts ;  John  Lowin,  Samuel  Gilburne,  Robert  Nash, 
and  William  Kemp,  players  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
company ;  Edmund  Shakspere,  the  actor,  who  was  Master 
William  Shakspere's  younger  brother,  and  Master  John 
Shakspere,  his  father ;  Michael  Drayton,  the  Midland  bard ; 
Burgess  Robert  Getley,  Alderman  Henry  Walker,  and 
William  Hart,  the  Stratford  hatter,  brother-in-law  to  Mas- 
ter Shakspere. 

On  one  side  of  the  table,  between  Master  Jonson  and 
Master  Richard  Burbage,  Cicely  was  seated  upon  a  high 

288 


ALL  'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL  289 

chair,  with  a  wreath  of  early  crimson  roses  in  her  hair, 
attired  in  the  gown  in  which  Nick  saw  her  first  a  year 
before.  On  the  other  side  of  the  table  Nick  had  a  place 
between  Master  Drayton  and  Robert  Getley,  father  of  his 
friend  Robin.  Half-way  down  there  was  an  empty  chair. 
Master  John  Combe  was  absent. 

It  was  no  common  party.  In  all  England  better  com- 
pany could  not  have  been  found.  Some  few  of  them 
the  whole  round  world  could  not  have  matched  then,  and 
could  not  match  now. 

It  would  be  worth  a  fortune  to  know  the  things  they 
said,— the  quips,  the  jests,  the  merry  tales  that  went  around 
that  board,— but  time  has  left  too  little  of  what  such  men 
said  and  did,  and  it  can  be  imagined  only  by  the  brightest 
wits. 

'T  was  Master  Shakspere  on  his  feet,  welcoming  his 
friends  to  his  "New  Place"  with  quiet  words  that  made 
them  glad  to  live  and  to  be  there,  when  suddenly  he 
stopped,  his  hands  upon  the  table  by  his  chair,  and  stared. 

The  tanner  stood  there,  silent,  in  the  door. 

Nick's  face  turned  pale.  Cicely  clung  to  Master  Jonson's 
arm. 

Simon  Attwood  stepped  into  the  room,  and  Master  Shak- 
spere went  quickly  to  meet  him  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  Master  Will  Shakspere,"  said  the  tanner,  hoarsely,  "  I 
ha'  come  about  a  matter."  There  he  stopped,  not  knowing 
what  to  say,  for  he  was  overwrought. 

"Out  with  it,  sir,"  said  Master  Shakspere,  sternly. 
"There  is  much  here  to  be  said.* 

10 


290  MASTER  SKYLARK 

The  tanner  wrung  his  hat  within  his  hands,  and  looked 
about  the  ring  of  cold,  averted  faces.  Soft  words  with 
him  were  few ;  he  had  forgotten  tender  things ;  and, 
indeed,  what  he  meant  to  do  was  no  easy  thing  for 
any  man. 

"  Come,  say  what  thou  hast  to  say,"  said  Master  Shak- 
spere,  resolutely ;  "  and  say  it  quickly,  that  we  may  have 
done." 

"  There  's  nought  that  I  can  say,"  said  Simon  Attwood, 
"  but  that  I  be  sorry,  and  I  want  my  son !  Nick !  Nick ! " 
he  faltered  brokenly,  "  I  be  wrung  for  thee ;  will  ye  na 
come  home— just  for  thy  mother's  sake,  Nick,  if  ye  will  na 
come  for  mine  ? " 

Nick  started  from  his  seat  with  a  glad  cry— then  stopped. 
"But  Cicely? "he  said. 

The  tanner  wrung  his  hat  within  his  hands,  and  his  face 
was  dark  with  trouble.  Master  Shakspere  looked  at  Mas- 
ter Jonson. 

Nick  stood  hesitating  between  Cicely  and  his  father, 
faithful  to  his  promise,  though  his  heart  was  sick  for 
home. 

An  odd  light  had  been  struggling  dimly  in  Simon  Att- 
wood's  troubled  eyes.  Then  all  at  once  it  shone  out  bright 
and  clear,  and  he  clapped  his  bony  hand  upon  the  stout 
oak  chair.  "Bring  her  along,"  he  said.  "I  ha'  little 
enough,  but  I  will  do  the  best  I  can.  Maybe 't  will  some- 
how right  the  wrong  I  ha'  done,"  he  added  huskily.  "  And, 
neighbors,  I  '11  go  surety  to  the  Council  that  she  shall  na 
fall  a  pauper  or  a  burden  to  the  town.  My  trade  is  ill 


ALL  'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL       291 

enough,  but,  sirs,  it  will  stand  for  forty  pound  the  year  at 
a  fair  cast-up.  Bring  the  lass  wi'  thee,  Nick— we  '11  make 
out,  lad,  we  '11  make  out.  God  will  na  let  it  all  go  wrong." 

Master  Jonson  and  Master  Shakspere  had  been  nodding 
and  talking  together  in  a  low  tone,  smiling  like  men  very 
well  pleased  about  something,  and  directly  Master  Shak- 
spere left  the  room. 

"  Wilt  thou  come,  lad  ? "  asked  the  tanner,  holding  out 
his  hands. 

"  Oh,  father ! "  cried  Nick ;  then  he  choked  so  that  he 
could  say  no  more,  and  his  eyes  were  so  full  of  mist  that 
he  could  scarcely  find  his  father  where  he  stood. 

But  there  was  no  need  of  more ;  Simon  Attwood  was 
answered. 

Voices  buzzed  about  the  room.  The  servants  whispered 
in  the  halL  Nick  held  his  father's  gnarled  hand  in  his 
own,  and  looked  curiously  up  into  his  face,  as  if  for  the 
first  time  knowing  what  it  was  to  have  a  father. 

"  Well,  lad,  what  be  it  ? "  asked  the  tanner,  huskily,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  his  son's  curly  head,  which  was  nearly  up 
to  his  shoulder  now. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Nick,  with  a  happy  smile,  "  only  mother 
will  be  glad  to  have  Cicely —won't  she  ? " 

Master  Shakspere  came  into  the  room  with  something 
in  his  hand,  and  walking  to  the  table,  laid  it  down. 

It  was  a  heavy  buckskin  bag,  tied  tightly  with  a  silken 
cord,  and  sealed  with  red  wax  stamped  with  the  seals  of 
Master  Shakspere  and  Master  Jonson. 

Every  one  was  watching  him  intently,  and  one  or  two 


292  MASTER  SKYLARK 

of  the  gentlemen  from  London  were  smiling  in  a  very 
knowing  way. 

He  broke  the  seals,  and  loosening  the  thong  which  closed 
the  bag,  took  ont  two  other  bags,  one  of  which  was  just 
double  its  companion's  size.  They  also  were  tied  with 
silken  cord  and  sealed  with  the  two  seals  on  red  wax. 
There  was  something  printed  roughly  with  a  quill  pen 
upon  each  bag,  but  Master  Shakspere  kept  that  side  turned 
toward  himself  so  that  the  others  could  not  see. 

"  Come,  come,  Will,"  broke  in  Master  Jonson,  "  don't 
be  all  day  about  it !  " 

"The  more  haste  the  worse  speed,  Ben,"  said  Master 
Shakspere,  quietly.  "  I  have  a  little  story  to  tell  ye  all." 

So  they  all  listened. 

"  When  Gaston  Carew,  lately  master-player  of  the  Lord 
High  Admiral's  company,  was  arraigned  before  my  Lord 
Justice  for  the  killing  of  that  rascal,  Fulk  Sandells,  there 
was  not  a  man  of  his  own  company  had  the  grace  to  lend 
him  even  so  much  as  sympathy.  But  there  were  still  some 
in  London  who  would  not  leave  him  totally  friendless  in 
such  straits." 

"Some?"  interrupted  Master  Jonson,  bluntly;  "then 
o-n-e  spells  'some.'  The  names  of  them  all  were  Will 
Shakspere." 

"  Tut,  tut,  Ben !  "  said  Master  Shakspere,  and  went  on : 
"But  when  the  charge  was  read,  and  those  against  him 
showed  their  hand,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  game  was 
up.  No  one  saw  this  any  sooner  than  Carew  himself ;  yet 
he  carried  himself  like  a  man,  and  confessed  the  indictment 


ALL  'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL       £93 

without  a  quiver.  They  brought  him  the  book,  to  read  a 
verse  and  save  his  neck,  perhaps,  by  pleading  benefit  of 
clergy.  But  he  knew  the  temper  of  those  against  him, 
and  that  nothing  might  avail;  so  he  refused  the  plea 
quietly,  saying,  <  I  am  no  clerk,  sirs.  All  I  wish  to  read 
in  this  case  is  what  my  own  hand  wrote  upon  that  scoun- 
drel Sandells.'  It  was  soon  over.  When  the  judge  pro- 
nounced his  doom,  all  Carew  asked  was  for  a  friend  to 
speak  with  a  little  while  aside.  This  the  court  allowed ; 
so  he  sent  for  me— we  played  together  with  Henslowe,  he 
and  I,  ye  know.  He  had  not  much  to  say — for  once  in 
his  life,"— here  Master  Shakspere  smiled  pityingly,—"  but 
he  sent  his  love  forever  to  his  only  daughter  Cicely." 

Cicely  was  sitting  up,  listening  with  wide  eyes,  and 
eagerly  nodded  her  head  as  if  to  say,  "  Of  course." 

"He  also  begged  of  Nicholas  Attwood  that  he  would 
forgive  him  whatever  wrong  he  had  done  him." 

"  Why,  that  I  will,  sir,"  choked  Nick,  brokenly ;  "  he  was 
wondrous  kind  to  me,  except  that  he  would  na  leave 
me  go." 

"After  that,"  continued  Master  Shakspere,  "he  made 
known  to  me  a  sliding  panel  in  the  wainscot  of  his  house, 
wherein  was  hidden  all  he  had  on  earth  to  leave  to  those 
he  loved  the  best,  and  who,  he  hoped,  loved  him." 

"  Everybody  loves  my  father,"  said  Cicely,  smiling  and 
nodding  again.  Master  Jonson  put  his  arm  around  the 
back  of  her  chair,  and  she  leaned  her  head  upon  it. 

"  Carew  said  that  he  had  marked  upon  the  bags  which 
were  within  the  panel  the  names  of  the  persons  to  whom 


294  MASTER  SKYLARK 

they  were  to  go,  and  had  me  swear,  upon  my  faith  as  a 
Christian  man,  that  I  would  see  them  safely  delivered  ac- 
cording to  his  wish.  This  being  done,  and  the  end  come, 
he  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks,  and  standing  bravely  up, 
spoke  to  them  all,  saying  that  for  a  man  such  as  he  had 
been  it  was  easier  to  end  even  so  than  to  go  on.  I  never 
saw  him  again." 

The  great  writer  of  plays  paused  a  moment,  and  his  lips 
moved  as  if  he  were  saying  a  prayer.  Master  Burbage 
crossed  himself. 

"  The  bags  were  found  within  the  wall,  as  he  had  said, 
and  were  sealed  by  Ben  Jonson  and  myself  until  we  should 
find  the  legatees— for  they  had  disappeared  as  utterly  as 
if  the  earth  had  gaped  and  swallowed  them.  But,  by  the 
Father's  grace,  we  have  found  them  safe  and  sound  at  last ; 
and  all 's  well  that  ends  well !  " 

Here  he  turned  the  buckskin  bags  around. 

On  one,  in  Master  Carew's  school-boy  scrawl,  was 
printed,  "For  myne  Onelie  Beeloved  Doghter,  Cicely 
Carew";  on  the  other,  "For  Nicholas  Attewode,  alias 
Mastre  Skie-lark,  whom  I,  Gaston  Carew,  Player,  Stole 
Away  from  Stratford  Toune,  Anno  Domini  1596." 

Nick  stared ;  Cicely  clapped  her  hands ;  and  Simon  Att- 
wood  sat  down  dizzily. 

"  There,"  said  Master  Shakspere,  pointing  to  the  second 
bag,  "  are  one  hundred  and  fifty  gold  rose-nobles.  In  the 
other  just  three  hundred  more.  Neighbor  Attwood,  we 
shall  have  no  paupers  here." 

Everybody  laughed  then  and  clapped  their  hands,  and 


ALL  'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL       295 

the  London  players  gave  a  rousing  cheer.  Master  Ben 
Jonson's  shout  might  have  been  heard  in  Market  Square. 

At  this  tremendous  uproar  the  servants  peeped  at  the 
doors  and  windows;  and  Tom  Boteler,  peering  in  from 
the  buttery  hall,  and  seeing  the  two  round  money-bags 
plumping  on  the  table,  crept  away  with  such  a  look  of 
amazement  upon  his  face  that  Mollikins,  the  scullery-maid, 
thought  he  had  seen  a  ghost,  and  fled  precipitately  into 
the  pantry. 

"And  what  's  more,  Neighbor  Tanner,"  said  Master 
Richard  Burbage,  "  had  Carew's  daughter  not  sixpence  to 
her  name,  we  vagabond  players,  as  ye  have  had  the  scanty 
grace  to  dub  us,  would  have  cared  for  her  for  the  honour 
of  the  craft,  and  reared  her  gently  in  some  quiet  place 
where  there  never  falls  even  the  shadow  of  such  evil 
things  as  have  been  the  end  of  many  a  right  good  fellow 
beside  old  Kit  Marlowe  and  Gaston  Carew." 

"And  to  that  end,  Neighbor  Attwood,"  Master  Shakspere 
added,  "  we  have,  through  my  young  Lord  Hunsdon,  who 
has  just  been  made  State  Chamberlain,  Her  Majesty's 
gracious  permission  to  hold  this  money  in  trust  for  the 
little  maid  as  guardians  under  the  law." 

Cicely  stared  around  perplexed.  "Won't  Nick  be 
there  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Why,  then  I  will  not  go— they  shall 
not  take  thee  from  me,  Nick ! "  and  she  threw  her  anna 
around  him.  "I  'm  going  to  stay  with  thee  till  daddy 
comes,  and  be  thine  own  sister  forever." 

Master  Jonson  laughed  gently,  not  his  usual  roaring 
laugh,  but  one  that  was  as  tender  as  his  own  bluff  heart 


296  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

"Why,  good  enough,  good  enough!  The  woman  who 
mothered  a  lad  like  Master  Skylark  here  is  surely  fit  to 
rear  the  little  maid." 

The  London  players  thumped  the  table.  "Why,  't  is 
the  very  trick,"  said  Hemynge.  "Marry,  this  is  better 
than  a  play." 

"It  is  indeed,"  quoth  Condell.  "See  the  plot  come 
out!" 

"  Thou  'It  do  it,  Attwood— why,  of  course  thou  'It  do  it," 
said  Master  Shakspere.  "'T  is  an  excellent  good  plan. 
These  funds  we  hold  in  trust  will  keep  thee  easy-minded, 
and  warrant  thee  in  doing  well  by  both  our  little  folks. 
And  what  's  more,"  he  cried,  for  the  thought  had  just 
come  in  his  head,  "  I  have  ever  heard  thee  called  an  honest 
man ;  hard,  indeed,  perhaps  too  hard,  but  honest  as  the 
day  is  long.  Now  I  need  a  tenant  for  this  New  Place  of 
mine— some  married  man  with  a  good  housewife,  and 
children  to  be  delving  in  the  posy-beds  outside.  What 
sayst  thou,  Simon  Attwood  ?  They  tell  me  thy  'prentice, 
Job  Hortop,  is  to  marry  in  July— he  '11  take  thine  old 
house  at  a  fair  rental.  Why,  here,  Neighbor  Attwood, 
thou  toil-worn,  time-damaged  tanner,  bless  thy  hard  old 
heart,  man,  come,  be  at  ease— thou  hast  ground  thy  soul 
out  long  enough !  Come,  take  me  at  mine  offer— be  my 
fellow.  The  rent  shall  trickle  off  thy  finger-tips  as  easily 
as  water  off  a  duck's  back ! " 

Simon  Attwood  arose  from  the  chair  where  he  had  been 
sitting.  There  was  a  bewildered  look  upon  his  face,  and 
he  was  twisting  his  horny  fingers  together  until  the 


ALL  ;S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL        297 

knuckles  were  white.  His  lips  parted  as  if  to  speak,  but 
he  only  swallowed  very  hard  once  or  twice  instead,  and 
looked  around  at  them  all.  "  Why,  sir,"  he  said  at  length, 
looking  at  Master  Shakspere,  "  why,  sirs,  all  of  ye— I  ha' 
been  a  hard  man,  and  summat  of  a  fool,  sirs,  ay,  sirs,  a 
very  fool.  I  ha'  misthought  and  miscalled  ye  foully  many 
a  time,  and  many  a  time.  God  knows  I  be  sorry  for  it 
from  the  bottom  o'  my  heart ! "  And  with  that  he  sat 
down  and  buried  his  face  in  his  arms  among  the  dishes  on 
the  buffet. 

"Nay,  Simon  Attwood,"  said  Master  Shakspere,  going 
to  his  side  and  putting  his  hand  upon  the  tanner's  shoulder, 
"  thou  hast  only  been  mistaken,  that  is  all.  Come,  sit  thee 
up.  To  see  thyself  mistaken  is  but  to  be  the  wiser.  Why, 
never  the  wisest  man  but  saw  himself  a  fool  a  thousand 
times.  Come,  I  have  mistaken  thee  more  than  thou  hast 
me ;  for,  on  my  word,  I  thought  thou  hadst  no  heart  at 
all— and  that 's  far  worse  than  having  one  which  has  but 
gone  astray.  Come,  Neighbor  Attwood,  sit  thee  up  and 
eat  with  us." 

"  Nay,  I  '11  go  home,"  said  the  tanner,  turning  his  face 
away  that  they  might  not  see  his  tears.  "  I  be  a  spoil-sport 
and  a  mar-feast  here." 

"  Why,  by  Jupiter,  man ! "  cried  Master  Jonson,  bringing 
his  fist  down  upon  the  board  with  a  thump  that  made  the 
spoons  all  clink,  "  thou  art  the  very  merry-maker  of  the 
feast.  A  full  heart 's  better  than  a  surfeit  any  day.  Don't 
let  him  go,  Will— this  sort  of  thing  doth  make  the  whole 
world  kin !  Come,  Master  Attwood,  sit  thee  down,  and 


298  MASTER  SKYLARK 

make  thyself  at  home.  'T  is  not  my  house,  but 't  is  my 
friend's,  and  so  't  is  all  the  same  in  the  Lowlands.  Be 
free  of  us  and  welcome." 

"  I  thank  ye,  sirs,"  said  the  tanner,  slowly,  turning  to 
the  table  with  rough  dignity.  "  Ye  ha'  been  good  to  my 
boy.  I  '11  ne'er  forget  ye  while  I  live.  Oh,  sirs,  there  be 
kind  hearts  in  the  world  that  I  had  na  dreamed  of.  But, 
masters,  I  ha'  said  my  say,  and  know  na  more.  Your 
pleasure  wunnot  be  my  pleasure,  sirs,  for  I  be  only  a  com- 
mon man.  I  will  go  home  to  my  wife.  There  be  things 
to  say  before  my  boy  comes  home ;  and  I  ha'  muckle  need 
to  tell  her  that  I  love  her— I  ha'  na  done  so  these  many 
years." 

"Why,  Neighbor  Tanner,"  cried  Master  Jonson,  with 
flushing  cheeks,  "thou  art  a  right  good  fellow!  And 
here  was  I,  no  later  than  this  morning,  red-hot  to  spit  thee 
upon  my  bilbo  like  a  Michaelmas  goose  !  "  He  laughed  a 
boyish  laugh  that  did  one's  heart  good  to  hear. 

"  Ay,"  said  Master  Shakspere,  smiling,  as  he  and  Simon 
Attwood  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  "  Come,  neighbor, 
I  know  thou  art  my  man— so  do  not  go  until  thou  drinkest 
one  good  toast  with  us,  for  we  are  all  good  friends  and 
true  from  this  day  forth.  Come,  Ben,  a  toast  to  fit  the  cue." 

"Why,  then,"  replied  Master  Jonson,  in  a  good  round 
voice,  rising  in  his  place,  " here  's  to  all  kind  hearts!" 

"  Wherever  they  may  be ! "  said  Master  Shakspere, 
softly.  "It  is  a  good  toast,  and  we  will  all  drink  it 
together." 

And  so  they  did.    And  Simon  Attwood  went  away  with 


ALL  'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL  299 

a  warmth  and  a  tingling  in  his  heart  he  had  never  known 
before. 

"  Margaret,"  said  he,  coming  quickly  in  at  the  door,  as 
she  went  silently  abont  the  house  with  a  heavy  heart 
preparing  the  supper,  "Margaret." 

She  dropped  the  platter  upon  the  board,  and  came  to 
him  hurriedly,  fearing  evil  tidings. 

He  took  her  by  the  hands.  This,  even  more  than  his 
unusual  manner,  alarmed  her.  "  Why,  Simon,"  she  cried, 
"  what  is  it  ?  What  has  come  over  thee  ?  " 

"Nought,"  he  replied,  looking  down  at  her,  his  hard 
face  quivering;  "but  I  love  thee,  Margaret." 

"  Simon,  what  dost  thou  mean  ? "  faltered  Mistress  Att- 
wood,  her  heart  going  down  like  lead. 

"Nought,  sweetheart— but  that  I  love  thee,  Margaret, 
and  that  our  lad  is  coming  home ! " 

Her  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating. 

"  Margaret,"  said  he,  huskily,  "  I  do  love  thee,  lass.  Is 
it  too  late  to  tell  thee  so  ?  " 

"  Nay,  Simon,"  answered  his  wife,  simply,  "  't  is  never 
too  late  to  mend."  And  with  that  she  laughed— but  in  the 
middle  of  her  laughing  a  tear  ran  down  her  cheek. 

FROM  the  windows  of  the  New  Place  there  came  a  great 
sound  of  men  singing  together,  and  this  was  the  quaint 
old  song  they  sang : 

"  Then  here  's  a  health  to  all  kind  hearts 

Wherever  they  may  be ; 
For  kindly  hearts  make  but  one  kin 
Of  all  humanity. 


300  MASTER  SKYLARK 

And  here 's  a  rouse  to  all  kind  hearts 

Wherever  they  be  found ; 
For  it  is  the  throb  of  kindred  hearts 

Doth  make  the  world  go  round ! " 

"  Why,  Will,"  said  Master  Burbage,  slowly  setting  down 
his  glass,  "'t  is  altogether  a  midsummer  night's  dream." 
"So  it  is,  Dick,"  answered  Master  Shakspere,  with  a 
smile,  and  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes.  "  Come,  Nicholas, 
wilt  thou  not  sing  for  us  just  the  last  few  little  lines  of 
'When  Thou  Wakest,'  out  of  the  play!" 

Then  Nick  stood  up  quietly,  for  they  all  were  his  good 
friends  there,  and  Master  Drayton  held  his  hand  while  he 
sang: 

"Every  man  shall  take  his  own, 
In  your  waking  shall  be  shown : 
Jack  shall  have  Jill, 
Nought  shall  go  ill, 
The  man  shall  have  his  mare  again,  and  all  shall  be  well ! " 

They  were  very  still  for  a  little  while  after  he  had  done, 
and  the  setting  sun  shone  in  at  the  windows  across  the 
table.  Then  Master  Shakspere  said  gently,  "  It  is  a  good 
place  to  end." 

"  Ay,"  said  Master  Jonson,  "  it  is." 

So  they  all  got  up  softly  and  went  out  into  the  garden, 
where  there  were  seats  under  the  trees  among  the  rose- 
bushes, and  talked  quietly  among  themselves,  saying  not 
much,  yet  meaning  a  great  deal. 

But  Nick  and  Cicely  said  "  Good-night,  sirs,"  to  them 
all,  and  bowed;  and  Master  Shakspere  himself  let  them 


ALL  'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL       301 

out  at  the  gate,  the  others  shaking  Nick  by  the  hand  with 
many  kind  wishes,  and  throwing  kisses  to  Cicely  until 
they  went  out  of  sight  around  the  chapel  corner. 

When  the  children  came  to  the  garden-gate  in  front  of 
Nick's  father's  house,  the  red  roses  still  twined  in  Cicely's 
hair,  Simon  Attwood  and  his  wife  Margaret  were  sitting 
together  upon  the  old  oaken  settle  by  the  door,  looking 
out  into  the  sunset.  And  when  they  saw  the  children 
coming,  they  arose  and  came  through  the  garden  to 
meet  them,  Nick's  mother  with  outstretched  hands,  and  her 
face  bright  with  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun.  And  when 
she  came  to  where  he  was,  the  whole  of  that  long,  bitter 
year  was  nothing  any  more  to  Nick. 

For  then— ah,  then— a  lad  and  his  mother;  a  son  come 
home,  the  wandering  ended,  and  the  sorrow  done ! 

She  took  him  to  her  breast  as  though  he  were  a  baby 
still ;  her  tears  ran  down  upon  his  face,  yet  she  was  smil- 
ing—a smile  like  which  there  is  no  other  in  all  the  world : 
a  mother's  smile  upon  her  only  son,  who  was  astray,  but 
has  come  home  again. 

Oh,  the  love  of  a  lad  for  his  mother,  the  love  of  a 
mother  for  her  son— unchanged,  unchanging,  for  right, 
for  wrong,  through  grief  and  shame,  in  joy,  in  peace,  in 
absence,  in  sickness,  and  in  the  shadow  of  death !  Oh, 
mother-love,  beyond  all  understanding,  so  holy  that  words 
but  make  it  common ! 

"  My  boy ! "  was  all  she  said ;  and  then,  "  My  boy— my 
little  boy ! " 

And  after  a  while,  "  Mother,"  said  he,  and  took  her  face 


302  MASTEE  SKYLARK 

between  his  strong  young  hands,  and  looked  into  her 
happy  eyes,  "  mother  dear,  I  ha'  been  to  London  town ;  I 
ha'  been  to  the  palace,  and  I  ha'  seen  the  Queen;  but, 
mother,"  he  said,  with  a  little  tremble  in  his  voice,  for  all 
he  smiled  so  bravely,  "  I  ha'  never  seen  the  place  where  I 
would  rather  be  than  just  where  thou  art,  mother  dear !  " 
The  soft  gray  twilight  gathered  in  the  little  garden; 
far-off  voices  drifted  faintly  from  the  town.  The  day 
was  done.  Cool  and  still,  and  filled  with  gentle  peace, 
the  starlit  night  came  down  from  the  dewy  hills;  and 
Cicely  lay  fast  asleep  in  Simon  Attwood's  arms. 


A     000  806  525     2 


